


The Coming Events

by NotASpaceAlien



Series: Your Own Side [2]
Category: Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Torture, M/M, Non-Consensual Bondage, some gore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-30
Updated: 2016-05-14
Packaged: 2018-06-05 14:17:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 22,722
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6707635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NotASpaceAlien/pseuds/NotASpaceAlien
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aziraphale gets a letter from Heaven and makes a snap decision in the face of impossible circumstances, but the events coming towards him and Crowley are inevitable.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Snowfall

**Author's Note:**

> On tumblr at http://not-a-space-alien.tumblr.com/post/143660218295/the-coming-events-part-1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story was originally a standalone, but I made some minor changes to it so that it serves as a base for a larger series overall! Hope you enjoy!

It’s snowing.

Aziraphale doesn’t mind the snow, really.  It keeps customers away, although it does tend to make things rather difficult for the poor humans.  Aziraphale would have thought Crowley would hate snow, what with being cold-blooded and all, so he was surprised to see him show up that day, bundled up under layers of fashionable jackets and less fashionable scarves and hats that may or may not have been gifts.

“Come on, angel,” said the demon, his muffled words frosting the glass door with condensation as he rapped on it.  “It’s a beautiful day!  Are you going to spend it all inside?”

“I had planned on it,” said Aziraphale, cracking the door open and allowing a wall of cold air to roll inside at him.  “Are you going to spend it _out_ side?”

“Come on, let’s go for a walk.”

“Surely there must be a more… weather-appropriate activity we can do if you’re so keen on spending time together?”  The demon looked so eager it was a little heartwarming, but why he might be so enthusiastic Aziraphale couldn’t figure out.  Perhaps it was the simple joy of still being on the planet they had come so close to losing.  The angel had felt that a few times since the Almostpocalypse, even after so much time.

“Angel, quit your grumbling,” said Crowley, pulling at Aziraphale’s sleeve.  “We don’t _need_ to be cold if you don’t want to, remember?”

“All right, just give me one moment.”  Aziraphale retreated back into his shop to retrieve his jacket and scarf.  Normally the demon had to be drunk* to display such an attitude, and he wasn’t above indulging him.

* * *

*Aziraphale was still unsure about the state of his sobriety.  He hadn’t smelled any alcohol on his breath, but still.

* * *

The sky was a monolith of fat grey clouds, bits of which were breaking off and drifting down to earth. He could see the snowflakes collecting on Crowley’s eyelashes as he stepped out and closed the door behind him. It was so quiet he could hear the small sputtering of snow accumulating on the ground.

His breath made frosty billows in the air as he flipped his scarf over his shoulder.  “What destination did you have in mind?”

Crowley’s hand slipped through the crook of his arm.  “Nowhere. I just wanted to go for a walk.”

Aziraphale looked down at the hand at his elbow.  This part was still new, the physical affection.  But he liked it.

Aziraphale put his hand on Crowley’s and patted him.  “All right, then, my dear, let’s go.”

The snow crunched under their shoes as they walked through the fog of snow, the flakes falling from the sky slowly but there were so _many_ of them they could hardly see the end of the street.  Tracks in the road revealed where cars had passed with considerable difficulty earlier, but it was empty now.

“You don’t suppose there are any ducks at the park?” said Aziraphale.

Crowley’s cheeks were already growing rosy from the cold.  “ _Surely_ they must be gone by now?”

“The pond is probably frozen over.”

When they arrived, they found that the pond wasn’t even visible beneath the snow.

“It’s here somewhere,” said Crowley, feeling around with his foot.  “It— _oof!_ ”  This last bit came as he slipped and fell forwards, his body making a muffled thump as he hit the snowbank.

Aziraphale suppressed a laugh, then leaned down to help him up.  As their hands met, Crowley yanked him down instead.

“Crowley!” he sputtered, crushing the demon underneath him and sending up a fresh puff of snow. Aziraphale thought it undignified, but _giggle_ was the only word to describe the sound Crowley made beneath him.

“Honestly, you—” Aziraphale began, and stopped when he saw the way Crowley was looking at him.  He was lying back in the snow, his hands loosely around the angel, gently on his arms, with absolute adoration written over every feature of his face, which looked like it was glowing.

Aziraphale knew what love looked like.  He _was_ drunk, but not on alcohol.

He reached down and swiped an oval in the snow above Crowley’s head, then whispered, “There, now you’re a snow angel.”

Crowley closed his eyes and laughed.

_Oh,_ that sound.  Suddenly there, in the presence of such love, it had an effect on Aziraphale he didn’t expect.  He felt himself colouring, and not from the cold.

This was a bit sudden.  But no, not sudden at all, really, if one thought about it.  Six thousands years they had spent together, and they had already exchanged "I love you's," even if neither had really been sure exactly what they had meant.  There are not many different directions one can go from confronting certain death and archdemons and Hell itself together, and coming out together.  It felt different now, different than how they had come to care for each other after 6,000 years as friends, more intense.  More...warm.

Aziraphale swished an armful of snow from the snow bank onto Crowley, and he flailed in surprise.

“Come on, you silly serpent.”

Aziraphale spotted the snowball materializing as Crowley was floundering to his feet, but he still wasn’t fast enough to dodge it.  He glared at Crowley sullenly from beneath the snow now coating his hair.

“Okay, okay, sorry,” said Crowley, holding his mitts up.  He stuck his hands in his pockets and turned away back towards the path.

In one swift motion, Aziraphale scooped up a handful of snow and pelted him with it.

“Hey!” came the yelp.

Aziraphale half expected him to continue the war, but he noted the demon shiver as he brushed the snowball of himself.

They didn’t _need_ to be cold, technically, but there’s something to be said for human ways.  Besides, it took effort, and the temperature was still dropping.

He walked over and wrapped his arm around Crowley’s shoulders.  “Why don’t we go inside, hm?  We can have a nice hot cup of cocoa.”

They walk be-gloved hand in hand all the way back.  Crowley felt much warmer than he usually did.

Crowley disappeared upstairs as Aziraphale made his way to the kitchen.  Aziraphale made the effort to prepare the cocoa without cheating, and went on a brief search for the missing demon to share it.

Crowley’s clothes had been shed and discarded like snakeskin, cold and saturated on the floor. Aziraphale picked his way around them into the bedroom, being careful not to spill their cups.

There was a great lump under the covers.

Aziraphale put the tray on the end table.  “I see you’ve helped yourself to my bed.  I can’t recall the last time I used it.  Comfy?”

“I’m _cold.”_ The duvet withdrew slightly, revealing a pair of yellow eyes peeking out from the shadowed recesses of the blanket mound.

And that’s when Aziraphale knew he was done for, the moment he saw those eyes, those golden discs with pupils expanding to fill with the sight of him, sparkling and beautiful like the snow outside.  They were so alien and bestial, but they had become so familiar to him, so comforting, that it wouldn’t feel right without them.  They reminded him of mirthful dinners in fancy restaurants, laughter in a back room away from judgmental eyes, cognac and wine and brandy and everything that made him ditzy and stupid and warm on the inside, of tea and sushi and snuffboxes and bookshops and everything he would have just accepted the loss of and the heartache for had it not been for this demon.

He knew what love felt like. He was done for.

“I recall _someone_ reminding me that we don’t have to _be_ cold,” said Aziraphale, sniffing.  His expression softened.  “A naked demon in my bed.  You’ll scandalize me, you know.”

Crowley drew the covers down, revealing his frazzled hair.  “You could…scandalize _yourself_ , you know.”

Aziraphale quirked an eyebrow.  Crowley muttered something, sinking down into the covers.

“Was that...an invitation?”

Crowley was growing red again.  “We are in _your_ bed.”

Aziraphale reached out and drew the covers back, exposing Crowley’s neck and shoulder blades, and the demon shivered at the sudden cold air and shifted about vaguely.

Aziraphale ran his fingers down Crowley’s ribcage, and he shuddered again under his hands.

“I’m _cold,_ angel,” he said again, quieter this time, and it was then Aziraphale realized that _We don’t have to_ be _cold_ from earlier had had more than one meaning.

He rolled Crowley onto his back and wriggled in beside him, then onto him, straddling him, pressing up against the demon’s bare body.  He felt heat being leached from him.  Crowley hummed appreciatively and slid his eyes shut, wrapping his arms around Aziraphale. He looked very vulnerable, wet and cold and naked underneath of him.  Aziraphale drew the duvet up so that they were both covered, muffling everything with the dimness of soft cotton.

“I love you,” said a soft voice beside him in the darkness, hesitant, scared, but sincere.

Aziraphale nuzzled at Crowley’s neck, whispering a reciprocation.  He felt Crowley’s lips on his face and his hands on his belly, making their way towards his pants.  He could feel something hard pressing against him, and Crowley leaned into him, arching his back and beginning to pant.  Aziraphale stroked his neck, feeling his soft, damp hair.

“Please, Aziraphale,” moaned Crowley.  “I want— _please—_ ”

Even after everything they had been through together, after how close they had become, it seemed sudden, but Aziraphale found himself inclined to oblige.  Crowley gasped as he felt Aziraphale’s fingers inside him, and Aziraphale felt the demon’s nails sinking into his shoulders.  Aziraphale worked his trousers open with his other hand, and Crowley squirmed and tried to stifle embarrassing, desperate sounds and failed.

He wrapped his legs around Aziraphale’s waist as the angel withdrew, clinging to him with his whole body, his face buried in his chest.

Aziraphale placed his hands in the small of Crowley’s back, holding him steady.  All trace of coldness had disappeared; their hot breaths filled the space under the duvet, and the heat of the skin-to-skin contact was intense.

Crowley gave a euphoric wail as Aziraphale pushed into him, feeling the tightness and heat and _oh—_

Crowley continued to be very vocal, giving off babbling bits of nonsense and squeals and curses and blasphemies and gasps and whines with every thrust they took together.

“ _F-fuck!_ ” he huffed, and Aziraphale felt something wet and slick in the space between them.  Aziraphale followed soon after, grunting, feeling light-headed, high on the contact and the warmth in their little pocket.

Aziraphale lowered himself down, drawing the duvet down a little, letting fresh air in, and in the new light he could see how flushed Crowley’s skin was.  He kissed it gently in between the heaving breaths the demon was taking.

He let his head rest on Crowley’s chest, savoring the feeling of the skin against his cheek and the demon’s hands running through his hair.  In the ensuing silence, he could hear the faint _whump-whump_ of the heart pumping in Crowley’s corporation. It reminded him of their bodies, the earth—everything they had come so close to losing.  They wouldn’t be able to have this moment if the earth wasn’t here, he wouldn’t be able to see Crowley at _all_ if the earth wasn’t here.  There were so many things that would just be _gone_.  And he was reminded again of how close they had come, how precarious the circumstances that made this wonderful moment possible for him.  And now he knew that he wouldn’t ever just accept it like he would have once done.  He would do anything to keep hearing that heartbeat.

Almost as if Heaven were reading his mind, a piece of celestial parchment materialized on his table downstairs with a flourish.  But he wouldn’t see it until the morning, after Crowley had left, so for now he fell asleep peacefully, his arms around his beloved.


	2. We Must Move Forward

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On tumblr at http://not-a-space-alien.tumblr.com/post/143695275320/the-coming-events-part-2

He found the letter only after Crowley had left.  It was stamped and sealed very officially, with enough wax to make it bend under its own weight, and it read, simply, worryingly:

_Aziraphale,_

_The plans to vanquish the Adversary once and for all are moving forwards.  The corrupt creation will be purged with fire and the wicked destroyed._   _In light of your behaviour in events which will not be named, you are to stay away from the key events as they unfold upon penalty of severe punishment.  We will send you orders as they become necessary, but expect no other information to be provided to you.  Stand ready to be recalled to Heaven when we see fit._

_-The Archangel Gabriel_

Aziraphale turned the letter over in his hand, looked in the envelope, half hoping for a note or a second letter saying _Just kidding_.  He huffed, folded it up and slid it back in, sat down, massaged his temples.  His thoughts from the previous night were coming back to him, and he realized that he had actually meant them.  Which was unfortunate, because now he had to deal with _this_.

_Why must it be this way?_  It was a question many angels had fallen for asking, but he dared think it now.  Nothing happened, so if God was aware he didn’t seem to care.  Typical.  Mysterious ways and all that.

Okay, so now they had a second apocalypse coming, and Aziraphale was explicitly forbidden from being involved with it.  Because they were aware of his “behaviour in events which will not be named.”  Leave it to Heaven to refuse all acknowledgement of something, but still punish him for it.

Bugger.

He wondered if Crowley had received a similar letter.  He pulled out his cell phone and flipped it open.*  He scrolled through his contact list to reach _Crowley,_ but stopped when the bar highlighted _Adam_ first.

* * *

*Aziraphale still had the same flip phone he had gotten in 2007.  It still worked perfectly fine, and he liked the sensation of slamming it shut when he was fed up with whoever he was talking to, although it usually crashed when Crowley tried to send him a text message that contained an emoji.

* * *

Adam.  If there was someone who would be willing and able to do anything about this, it would be him.  Aziraphale hadn’t talked to him in years.  Not since the boy, now an excited young adult, had gotten his first cell phone and excitedly given his number out to everyone he could think of.

He hit _Send,_ nervously lifting it to his face.

“Hello?” said a voice, much deeper than he remembered.

“Adam?”

“Oh, this is—!” said Adam, his voice pitching up with delight.  “I remember you!  I told you you could text me if you wanted!  I thought it would be wicked to be the only boy in England who could text an angel, but you never did!”

“Er, sorry about that,” said Aziraphale, anxiety gnawing at his stomach.  “I’m not much for texting—takes too long…”

“Well, it doesn’t if you have a qwerty keyboard,” he said, then trailed off hesitantly. “You…probably wouldn’t have contacted me just to chat about your cell phone.”

“I…  Adam, I’ve received a correspondence from Heaven.”

Adam let out a deep breath. “I was afraid that’s what it was. Let me guess, they’re going to try the apocalypse again?  ‘The Apocalypse 2.0: Back and Better than Ever’?”

“…Something like that, I suppose.”

On the other end of the line, he heard a chair clattering, as though Adam were sitting down.  “Well, shit.”

“Adam, they’re explicitly keeping me out of it this time, and I haven’t talked to Crowley yet but I expect he might have similar orders.  I’m not sure if we’ll be able to do anything.”

“Cause what you did last time worked _so_ well,” laughed Adam.

Aziraphale stifled a sad groan.  “I-I just meant-”

“I know what you meant, relax.”

“Crowley and I—we don’t want this to happen, Adam, but we’re only pawns, we don’t have any authority in the matter.  And we’re field agents, so we’re likely to be recalled before it begins.”

“And you came to me because you need someone else to do something, right?”

“I was hoping, dear boy.”

Adam let out a pained breath.  “I—uhhhhhhh—”

“You don’t want to help?” exclaimed Aziraphale, scarcely able to believe it.  “This is _your_ planet!”

“Oh, I _want_ to.  I can’t, exactly…”

“Whyever not?  Last time you were able to stop it all by yourself! Or, at least, with those friends of yours.  But even as a child you had enough power to stop it!”

“I….sort of…gave my powers up.”

Aziraphale put his face in his hand.  “You gave them up.”

“I was _eleven,_ Aziraphale, you can’t blame me if I didn’t always think ahead!”

“You can’t access any of the powers you were born with?”

“Afraid not.  Not even a little.  I haven’t been able to do anything supernatural in years.  That well is sealed off.  I’m useless as any human you could pick at random.”

There was silence on the line.  “All right, Adam, it can’t be helped, then, that’s all right.”

They both knew it wasn’t all right, but they let that lie stand for lack of alternatives.  “I’ll…I’ll try and see if I can get them back, right?” He did not sound hopeful.  “And it’s not like Hell would try and use the same antichrist, right?  They’ve probably got one of my siblings out there starting to muck things up. Haven’t a clue.”

“Yes, you’ve got a point. I…I’ll keep you informed, I suppose, and you do the same.”

“All right.  I’m sorry.”

“That’s all right, then. I’ll talk to you later.”

Aziraphale snapped his phone shut and squeezed it, anguished thoughts running through his mind.  He was at a loss.

This wasn’t fair, was it? How was he supposed to do anything about this?  What was he capable of doing?

Adam couldn't do anything.  He was the only one in his contacts who might have been able to help.  Unless...Maltha?

After that bit of a scare with her, Aziraphale had hoped maybe, just maybe they could have peace for a while.  Maltha didn't have much official standing in Hell, but she was powerful enough that Satan would surely call on her to be a general for the war.  Did Aziraphale dare hope they might have convinced her that the Earth was worth defending?

It seemed unlikely.  She obviously had no great love for angels or Heaven and would probably advance the front line of the war with as much vigor as any other archdemon.  There was a chance she would even kill Aziraphale rather than help him.

Besides, Aziraphale had no way of contacting her.  If she wanted to get involved, she would do so on her own terms, and there wasn't anything he could do about that.

So he couldn't depend on Adam or Maltha.  Who did that leave?  The archangels?  Michael seemed to be the only archangel that liked him for some inexplicable reason, but Michael--the Sword of Heaven, the Light Against the Darkness, all that dramatic jazz--was probably the _most_ gung-ho about the war.  He wouldn't stop it for anything.

Nobody in Heaven liked him enough to do him a favour, let alone something so big.  Certainly nobody in Hell would help him.  And nobody on Earth could do anything about it.  So...?

What could he do?

Surely there must be _something..._  

He thought of Crowley’s honeyed eyes, his laugh, the way he felt in Aziraphale’s hands.  His heartbeat, that decidedly human thing keeping him in this world, within Aziraphale’s reach.  Of what other angels would do to him in the coming events if they were allowed to proceed.

He had to do something. Immediately.

His mind was clouded with sorrow and panic.  If he had been thinking more clearly, he would have realized he should have called Crowley before doing anything.  But he could only think of Crowley as a precious object he had to protect, and he needed to keep Crowley _away_ from this.  So he didn’t, instead going to his back room and tearing it apart to garner the ingredients for a spell to get him into Heaven.

Aziraphale always forgot how _bright_ Heaven was. Everything was polished and oversaturated and white or gleaming gold.  He squinted briefly before waving to the gatekeeper, who motioned him through.

“Just got to talk to Gabriel, be in and out quickly.”

“Gabriel’s not in,” said the gatekeeper.  “Not sure where he’s gone off to.  Think he’s doing some field work on earth.”

“Oh….ah, that’s all right.” His thoughts raced and he landed on a new target—

“Do you know if Camael is in, then?”

“Haven’t seen him leave.”

“Thank you, sir.  Have a blessed day.”

Aziraphale headed in, ducking to avoid anyone who might want to speak with him, heading straight for Camael’s office.  He made a friendly wave at those who saw him come in, their eyes puzzled as they tried to remember who he was, then astonished as they realized how long it had been since they had seen him.

Camael’s PA had his feet propped up on the desk outside of the office.  Aziraphale put his hands on the desk.  “I need to speak to Camael.”

The assistant gave him a patronizing look just short of an eye roll.  “Do you have an appointment?”

“No, but it’s urgent.”

“Look, Archangels are busy. You can’t just come in and expect to be able to see them.”

“ _Look_ ,” said Aziraphale, leaning in.  “Camael reads my reports and decides what I should be doing on Earth, so I should be able to see him when I need to!  This is very important!”

The assistant let out an exasperated sigh, swiveled around, peeked his head into the office.  After some low conversation, he motioned Aziraphale to head in.

“Aziraphale!” said Camael. The archangel had been reclining in his chair with his broad wings relaxedly draped about the floor, but he drew them in and stood when he saw the principality.  “Come in.  Wow, it’s been a while since you’ve been up here, hasn’t it?  How’s my field agent doing?  Getting lots done, I assume?”

Aziraphale noticed he tactfully avoided mentioning that the last time Aziraphale had been up here, he had been wildly trying to find a way back down.  “Of course, sir.  I just needed to speak with you.”

“Of course,” said Camael, leaning in.  “What’s on your mind?”

This was it, then. This was probably the only shot he was going to get to do anything.  If not even Camael, who had always gone easy on Aziraphale when he broke the rules and gave him the freedom to do as he pleased, would listen to him, then no one would.  Aziraphale was not popular in Heaven.  And with them keeping him away from the proceedings of the apocalypse and in the dark—and with that stern tone from Gabriel, there was no fighting on _that_ front—talking was all he could do.

He was going to see how much he had learned from Crowley.  He took a deep breath.

“Sir, recently I received a letter from Gabriel regarding some events that Heaven has slated to start soon.”

“Ah, yes,” said Camael. “The antichrist walks the earth, and Hell is planning to make their attempt at a final rebellion soon.  Good that you’ve gotten word about it.”

God, what to even _say?_  Camael sounded like he was looking forward to it.  “Heaven has its plans for the apocalypse already in motion, then?”

“Yes, they’re already surprisingly far along.”  He tented his hands and looked at Aziraphale over them.  “Aziraphale, you look distressed.  Remember that this is the end goal we’ve been working towards all these years.”

“Of course, sir.  Must it…happen like _this,_ though?”

Camael looked at him darkly. “This is the _only_ way it can happen, Aziraphale.”

There was silence. Camael sighed and leaned back.  “I can see what you’re trying to do.  And, _no_ , Aziraphale.  This _is_ happening.  Nothing short of Satan himself dying prematurely will stop it this time.  I know this because of details I have been forbidden to share with you.”

“Forbidden?”

“That little stunt you pulled in 1990 didn’t go unnoticed.  The entire host has been told to keep you out of the loop and out of everything that’s not absolutely necessary for you to know to carry out a specific mission.  If you try _anything_ , we’ll know it, Aziraphale.  Don’t go near the antichrist or the horsemen, when they reappear.  Carry out your normal duties, and the special missions we give you, and be ready to be called back.  That’s all we want you to do.  That’s all you _can_ do.”

Aziraphale could see now that he had been a fool for thinking he might be able to talk anyone out of anything.  He dithered briefly on the _Satan himself dying prematurely_ part before deciding it was an impractical route to pursue.

This had been a failure, then.  And it had been the only thing he could think of to try.  It had been plans A-Z.  He was going to lose the earth, the wine, the ducks, his bookshop, the sleight of hand magic, all the humans—even those awful humans who tried to buy his books, oh!—and Crowley—

_Crowley_.  It felt like some terrible beast had raked its claws over his heart, making a pulsing, agonizing wound.  He felt like maybe, just maybe he could take the loss of the entire planet with all the brilliant humans and their doings, if he could just have Crowley.

If he could just keep Crowley.

There had to be a way to keep Crowley.

This thought launched a series of events, some of which Aziraphale would absolutely hate himself for, but he was thinking on his feet, and what he pulled out in a second was fairly impressive by any standards, like a more remarkable version of pulling a rabbit out of a hat.

He regained his composure, crossed his legs.  “I think you may have misunderstood me, Camael.  I was hoping that we could have, an…arrangement.”

Camael looked surprised at the sudden turn.  “What kind of… ‘arrangement’?”

“Do you suppose that Heaven would stand to benefit from having a pair of eyes on the inside of the _infernal_ side of things in the upcoming events?”

“Are you proposing a double agent?”

“I am.  He would be capable of both spying and sabotage.  In exchange for asylum after the war is over.”

“Asylum?” said Camael. “Heaven has never granted asylum to anyone before, what makes you think… Aziraphale, _who_ exactly is the individual you are proposing to carry out these duties?  The only type of being who would have access to Hell and need Heaven’s asylum is a demon.”

“That’s right.”

“You’re proposing a demon work for our side in the apocalypse?  In exchange for being spared destruction when it’s over?”

“Yes.”

“There is no demon fit for such a job.  I’m sure plenty would volunteer, but none would be trustworthy.”

“I know of one.”

“Demons are _scum,_ Aziraphale,” snarled Camael, and Aziraphale quickly began to realize that Camael was the type of person whose magnanimity quickly ends with his in-group, leaving nothing but hatred and violence for everyone else.  “Why are you trying to force such a ridiculous idea?  The entire _point_ of the war is to wipe them out of existence.  Leaving one defeats the purpose.”

Aziraphale felt his jaw clenching, trying not to match Camael’s level of emotion, which was difficult. “Sir, is it or is it not true that there is a possibility Heaven might _lose_ the war?”

Camael’s knuckles were white on a pencil on his desk.  “We don’t _talk_ about that, Aziraphale.  We _will_ win.”

“But there is a chance.”

The pencil snapped.

“Camael, one demon. It could significantly tip the scales in our favor.  Secure our victory.  Which would be worse:  a world with one demon, or a world with _all_ the demons, because they won?”

“That doesn’t matter,” he growled, “because there is no demon we could trust enough to stay loyal to us throughout the entire series of events.”

Aziraphale leaned back, trying to appear cool and detached.  “I know of one.”

“How could you possibly?”

“My adversary, whom I’ve been thwarting since the beginning of my station on earth.”

Aziraphale could see the wheels in Camael’s head turning to try and bring the name up.  “The demon Crawly?”

“Yes.”

“You propose that your own enemy would be loyal to your cause?”

“I know he would.”

“How could you know that?”

“Because...”  Here he took a deep breath.  “…He loves me.”

Camael actually put his head in his hands.  “Aziraphale, you are piling ridiculousness upon ridiculousness today.  Demons _cannot_ love, and they certainly wouldn’t love _you._ ”

Aziraphale knew love when he saw it.  He saw it in Crowley’s eyes, in his sly little grin, in the way he poured wine with a flourish and handed it to him, in his voice when he said, “Let’s go for a walk, angel.”  In the heated breaths exchanged under a duvet.  In the way that Aziraphale simply asking him to was enough to get him to face down Satan instead of running to save himself.

“I know that he does. I’ve never been surer of anything. He would do it for us.  To keep us together.”

Camael let out a deep breath, balled his hands on the table.  “Aziraphale, I am going to humour you.  If this demon loves you, then I will accept him as an agent for our side.”

“And you’ll arrange to have him granted asylum?”

“Yes.  But this hinges on what you’ve said being true.  You understand that?”  Camael knew that love was a powerful force, and Aziraphale could see it was the only thing that could get him to even grudgingly accept Crowley as being capable of loyalty to Heaven.

“I understand.”

“And what about you, Aziraphale?  Do you love _him_?”

Aziraphale hesitated mightily.  If he answered _yes_ they might question his loyalty or even his capabilities as an angel, if he loved the adversary he was supposed to be thwarting.  If he answered _no_ they might treat Crowley as an expendable pawn, just a tool they could handle roughly because Aziraphale didn’t actually care about him and was only using him.

“I love all of God’s creation,” said Aziraphale.

Camael raised an eyebrow. The deflection was not lost on him. “Very well.  We’ll have to have a meeting with him, of course.”

For some reason, Aziraphale had not thought about Crowley actually meeting any of the angels who would be involved in the deal.  “Oh! O-of course.”

“We’ll have to confirm that what you’ve said is true.  That’s the foremost thing.”

“And…how were you planning to do that?” Aziraphale’s stomach sank, because he thought he had a guess.

“We’ll have to see into his mind, directly of course.  My telepathy skills are a bit rusty, but I should be able to confirm the presence of an emotion as strong as love with minimal invasion and damage.”

Aziraphale knew a euphemism when he heard one.  He meant it was going to hurt.

His precious Crowley, he had tried to do this to keep him _away_ from being hurt by angels…

But there was no other option!  Was there?

“Must we do it _that_ way?”

“I’ll only authorize this if I can confirm it myself, Aziraphale.  Unless you’ve changed your mind about this arrangement?”

“No, I…No, we’ll do it.”

“Good.  We’ll make plans then.  You’ll have to restrain him of course.”

“R-re…”

Camael withdrew a piece of paper from his desk and began to scribble something on it.  “For the safety of me and the other angels, of course.”

The _other—_

“He’s a demon, and until I can personally confirm his loyalty I refuse to put anyone in danger by letting our guard down.  We’ll arrange this, but it’ll be under my conditions or not at all.”

“All right,” said Aziraphale unsurely.

Camael slid the paper over to let Aziraphale read it, and Aziraphale immediately said, “ _No._ ”

“You can heal it afterwards. These are the only circumstances under which I’ll agree to meet with him.  I’ll not risk anyone’s safety for this demon’s comfort.”

This had to be a cruel joke. Aziraphale swallowed.  “This is extreme.”

“He is a _demon_ , Aziraphale.  He’s lucky he’ll be alive after we’re done with him.” His tone indicated that he felt like even this was too good.  

“Camael,” said Aziraphale, dismally, “he _trusts_ me.”

“Then I’m sure it won’t be difficult,” said the archangel, his gaze cold.  He crossed his arms.  “I must say, Aziraphale, I am _very_ curious to meet this demon who has so captured your attention.”

Now Aziraphale knew he had made a mistake.  Camael was probably the only Archangel who would agree to something like this, but he was still an Archangel, and he had never seen demons as anything other than fodder for his sword.  And that _very curious_ meant that even if Aziraphale backed out right now, they could probably still expect a visit soon, perhaps without even the pretense of talking to him.

He took a deep breath and folded the paper up, slipping it into his pocket.  “Fine.  I’ll be in contact with you, then.”

And Aziraphale walked out of there wondering how this had happened, how _this_ was really the best plan he could come up with.


	3. The Mark

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> on tumblr at http://not-a-space-alien.tumblr.com/post/143767888795/the-coming-events-part-3

Crowley apparently had not received any similar correspondences from Hell.  Maybe after his involvement the last time, they had decided it would be better to keep him in the dark completely.

In fact, Crowley showed no signs at all that he thought anything was wrong.  He was beaming as he stepped into the shop, a bottle of wine embellished with a ribbon in his hand.  Aziraphale swept him into a hug as he entered, holding him so that his feet actually left the floor.

“Woah, there!” said the demon.  “I’m here.”

“I love you,” said Aziraphale, scarcely above a whisper, squeezing him.

Crowley let out a choked sound.  “I-I love you, too, Aziraphale, I…  Is everything all right?”

He released him, patting his shoulder.  “Of course everything is fine, dear.  I just…”  He smiled at him and put a hand on his head.  “Let’s see to that wine, shall we?”

Crowley kept the conversation pleasant and interesting as they emptied the bottle, going on about his latest gadget and some prank he had pulled on a hapless human and what dirty jokes he had managed to sneak past censors in children’s media and the like. Aziraphale kept his happy face on the entire time, laughing and nodding in agreement or putting up token arguments at the appropriate moments, feeling crushed by the weight of what he was about to do, which was on the back of his mind the entire time.

He made sure Crowley got very drunk.  He kept refilling the wine bottle while furtively emptying the alcohol out of his own blood stream after each drink to stay sober.  If Crowley noticed, he didn’t show it, and Aziraphale playfully pinched Crowley and spilled his drink and slurred his words to hide it.  He was afraid he would let something slip out if he let himself get carried away.

There was no way Crowley would agree to this if he knew beforehand.

Finally, they were on the couch together, the miraculously refiling bottle emptied at last, Crowley leaning heavily on the angel.

“You’re drunk,” said Aziraphale.

Crowley laughed and tried to right himself.  He fell backwards into the cushions.  “Yeah. I think I’ll just…s…”

“Crowley?”

The demon’s head lolled to the side, and even when Aziraphale shook him he did not wake back up.

He had to do it now. He brushed a lock of hair out of the demon’s face before leaving the couch, returning a moment later with a long metal object.  He twisted the end of it into the shape Camael had sketched for him, the wrought iron braiding itself into the complex shape under his direction.

He gently unbuttoned Crowley’s shirt from the bottom, laying it open and exposing his abdomen.  He moved faintly as he felt the angel’s fingers on him, but he settled back down and made a sleepy sigh.

As Aziraphale heated up the end of the metal rod, he decided to remove just a _little_ of the alcohol from Crowley’s system, because he thought it would be cruel if this happened while he was quite _this_ drunk.  He also reminded himself of his resolve—he couldn’t let Crowley talk him out of this.  He was just going to do it.  It was the only way.

That didn’t make it any easier.  The end of the rod now glowed red hot.  And with one swift motion, he grabbed Crowley’s arm and pressed it to his side, right underneath his ribs.

* * *

Crowley awoke to an explosion of pain on his side and the scent of burning flesh.  He bolted upright and jerked away from the source, but a hand clamped firmly on his arm, holding him pressed against the thing that was causing him such pain.

It was _Aziraphale_.  He almost couldn’t believe his eyes.  Aziraphale had a vice grip on his arm and was branding him—

“What the f- _fuck?_ ” he shrieked, and finally the angel released him.  He leapt backwards, falling over the couch, and flipped himself upright unsteadily. He immediately tried to miracle the alcohol out of his bloodstream, but felt himself slam into something when he tried, something he had never felt before, like an elastic wall that snapped him back.

“What did you _do?_ ”  He looked down at the burn on his side and saw blurrily that it was some complex shape—

“It’s a septacle,” said Aziraphale gently, tossing the brand onto the floor.  “From the Key of Solomon.  It’s an anti-demon seal.  It won’t hurt you, just restrain you.”

The Key of Solomon. That fucking grimoire that so many demons who were supposed to be immortal had fallen to.  Humans didn’t usually use it correctly, but an _angel_ would know exactly what to do with it.

“ _You—_ ”  Crowley stumbled backwards, knocking a lamp off an end table.  He tried to invoke something supernatural, use _any_ of his powers, do something, _anything_ , but something pressed on him in any direction he went.  Even his wings felt like they were being crushed against his body, straining unsuccessfully against some unseen force to open.  His back hit the wall and adrenaline flooded his body.  “You _fucker—_ ”

“It’ll be all right. Just do what I say.”

Crowley knew now that he had made a mistake in letting himself trust someone.  He had wanted so badly not to be alone and had thought maybe, just maybe he could…but no, all it took was one slip-up, and the person he _loved_ did this to him, wait until he was vulnerable and then turn his corporation into a prison for him, helpless as any human _._

“Come here,” said Aziraphale, holding his arms out.

“You ssstay away from me,” he hissed, blundering forwards, using the wall for leverage.  “Get _away_ —”

He screamed as Aziraphale’s arms closed around him.  “No!  Get _off!_ ”

He kicked and flailed as best as he could as Aziraphale began to drag him upstairs, but there was nothing he could do against a supernatural being who still had access to their powers.  His nails raked tracks in the wooden banister as they ascended.

“Have I done something wrong?” he said desperately as the bedroom door popped open.

“I’ve arranged something. It’ll be okay.  Just stay calm.”

“ _Something_?” said Crowley as the door closed behind them. “Angel, you can’t just—W-what are you going to do to me?”

Aziraphale remembered his resolve not to be talked out of this.  “Just stand still, my dear.”

“What did I do?  Have I—did you—”

“Just relax.”

“What are we— _no!_ ”  He began to thrash with renewed urgency when he saw Aziraphale take out a pair of handcuffs. “No no no no, don’t, Aziraphale, _please_ …”

Aziraphale sandwiched him against the wall with as much gentleness as he could, snapping one cuff on and looping the chain through the old cast iron radiator, pulling Crowley down.

“Give me your other hand,” he said as Crowley wormed around.

“I _hate_ you, Aziraphale, I _hate you_ …”

He managed to snatch the other hand and click the bracelet onto it.  He stepped back to evaluate his work.  The demon tugged at the restraints savagely.  “I hate you!” he wailed.

“Just stand still.  I promise it’ll be okay.”

Crowley continued to make frantic and frustrated sounds as Aziraphale laid out the ingredients and began to draw the chalk circle to link him with Heaven.  When the preparations were mostly complete and it became clear what was happening, Crowley tugged at the handcuffs so hard they bit into his wrists and drew blood.  “You’re calling _them?_  You’re giving me to _them?_ ”

Aziraphale could take it no longer.  “It’s been arranged, Crowley, don’t worry, they’re not going to hurt you.”

“I _hate_ you!” he moaned.  “I hope your bookshop burns down with you in it!  I hope you fall!  I hope Satan himself rapes and tortures you!” But the anger was slowly draining out of his voice as the energy to fight exhausted itself, replaced by an infinite sadness, the brokenness of someone who had been betrayed in the worst way.

He said some other rather more colourful things that it would be impolite to print.  Aziraphale became concerned that if Camael came down and heard the foul things the demon was wishing upon him, he would immediately change his mind about the deal, because this all hinged on convincing Camael that Crowley loved him.  No amount of coaxing would get him to stop, and Aziraphale was forced to gag him.

He wondered if he still _would_ love him.  He felt himself trembling, looking at Crowley like this, locked in his own body, immobilized, and with his mouth—which had always been his most potent weapon—grinding on a piece of cloth.  Aziraphale was almost overwhelmed by how much he hated himself for what he had done.  Crowley’s eyes were accusatory on him from where he was kneeling on the floor, raking over the angel with all the malice that had been stoppered with the gag.

Aziraphale leaned over and kissed him on the head.  “I’m so, so sorry, my dear.  I promise it’ll be all right.  Please trust me.”

He turned back around and finished the circle.  He heard Crowley begin to let out fearful sobs as he lit the candles and began to say the incantation, but he forced himself to keep his back to the demon.

“Camael, this is Aziraphale,” he said into light particles filling the circle.  

“Hello, Aziraphale,” said Camael’s voice in the empty space.

“We’re ready.”

“You’re…ready?”

“I’ve done exactly as you asked.  You can come down now.”

There was a stunned silence from the other end of the line, and it was then that it hit Aziraphale: Camael had never expected him to actually do it.  Camael had given him those terms because he thought they would make Aziraphale give up on the idea and stop pestering him about it.

Aziraphale clenched his fists, anger growing inside him.  Well, Camael could _shove_ it.  Aziraphale had called his bluff.  There was no way he could go back on his word now.

“All right, we’ll be down in one moment.”

Aziraphale stepped back from the circle.  “Just keep still,” he said, putting a hand on Crowley, who was shaking from head to toe. He had never seen him shake like that before.  He supposed anyone would do so if they couldn’t control their own corporation’s involuntary functions.

With a _fwump_ , Camael appeared in the circle, followed shortly by an angel Aziraphale recognized as Victoria; he knew she had worked with Camael in the past, but on what he couldn’t remember.  Behind them came a third angel he didn’t know, but he remembered vaguely as part of Camael’s battalion, and she was holding a bucket—

Crowley let out a muffled howl as he realized what the third angel had, and Aziraphale stepped in front of him, pressing him against the wall and flaring his wings out protectively. He pointed to the bucket.  “ _That_ was not discussed.”

The angel set the bucket down, the holy water inside sloshing audibly.  “If you’ve spoken the truth, Aziraphale, we won’t need it,” said Camael.  “However, if what you’ve said is false, then this demon is deceitful and would need to be disposed of.”

“You will keep that _away_ from him.”

“As I _said,_ unless you’ve spoken in error, it’ll stay where it is.”  He stepped forwards and looked past Aziraphale to where the demon was crouching by the radiator.

It was pathetic. Aziraphale knew exactly why Camael had picked _this_ way to do it.  It was a power trip, a petty display of dominance to establish right off the bat who was in charge in this arrangement, and exactly what Camael thought about Crowley.

Aziraphale made a motion to take the gag out, and Camael snorted.  “Leave it in.  This is a simple yes or no matter, and I don’t feel like listening to him whine. It’s an improvement, if you ask me.”

“But he can’t—” Aziraphale began, but Camael interrupted, “You _said_ he would agree, Aziraphale, or have you spoken in error?”

Aziraphale’s eyes flew to the holy water and back to the archangel, what remained of his good opinion of Camael evaporating.  He clenched his jaw.

“Step aside, if you please.”

He reluctantly stepped back, and Crowley whimpered and pulled away as Camael knelt beside him and took his head in his hands.  The demon looked up at him with terrified eyes, zigzagging to look at one hand and then the other, anticipating something horrible to happen at any moment.

Camael pressed his fingers to Crowley’s temple and closed his eyes.  The demon seized, his body locking up.  Camael’s eyes flew open, and he took his hands off.  Crowley went limp, slamming his head on the radiator on the way to the floor.  Camael stepped back to allow Aziraphale access as he rushed forwards and cradled the demon’s head, giving Camael as dirty of a look as he dared.

“Well?” said Victoria.

“I don’t believe it…” said Camael.  “It’s true. The demon loves him.  It felt stronger than his loyalty to Hell.”

Victoria gave the pair a curious look, then turned back to Camael.  “Then…?”

Camael grudgingly said, “Aziraphale, you’re correct in your assessment.  This demon would make a useful agent in the upcoming war with the forces of darkness.  In exchange for his help, we will offer him asylum when the war is over.  We’ll be in contact with you regarding instructions.”

None of this was directed at Crowley himself, and Camael gave the demon one disgusted look before turning back to the chalk circle and disappearing.  Victoria hesitated at the edge of the circle, looking again at Aziraphale unsurely.  He expected her to say something, but she merely turned and followed the archangel in vanishing.

“Take _that_ with you,” said Aziraphale to the third angel, motioning to the bucket of holy water.  The angel curtsied and picked it up.  The light snicked off, and then they were alone again.

Crowley was still now. Aziraphale reached around and removed the handcuffs and pulled the gag out of his mouth.  He reached towards him to heal the Solomonic seal, but Crowley suddenly came to life and slapped his hand away viciously.  “Don’t _touch_ me.”

“Crowley, please let me—”

Crowley stood, and Aziraphale let him push away and run out of the room.

Aziraphale stayed where he was kneeling on the floor, stuck in place by shame and fear.  He heard the Bentley’s door opening and then slamming shut outside.

Aziraphale came down the stairs slowly and saw that Crowley’s jacket was still on the coat rack.

“Dear boy,” he murmured, taking it off.  “You’ll catch your death of cold.”

The Bentley was still outside.  Of course it was still outside.  Crowley wouldn’t have been able to drive it.  There hadn’t been petrol in the tank in years.  There was, however, a car door handle lying on the sidewalk, as though torn off in frustration.

Aziraphale’s hand tightened around Crowley’s coat.  He couldn’t have gotten far.

He stepped quietly though the streets, holding Crowley’s coat in lieu of what he really wanted to be holding, exhaling small clouds of cold fog.

Aziraphale finally found him sitting on a bench in the park, hunched over, his head in his hands.  The snow was mostly gone, and the pond was visible now.  It was indeed frozen over.

“Crowley,” said Aziraphale, sliding onto the bench next to him.  “It’s very cold out.  Please put your jacket on.”

Crowley’s lips had already turned blue, and he was shivering incessantly.  He didn’t respond, so Aziraphale slid the jacket onto his frame and draped it around him.  When he made a move to touch the mark on his ribs, the demon lashed out and snapped, “Don’t _touch_ me.”

“Please let me heal it,” said Aziraphale, but Crowley curled himself back up and leaned away from him.

“Crowley, I….”

“So that’s it, then?” said Crowley, still not looking at him.  “You were drafting me?”

“They’re going to give you asylum after the war, Crowley!  I did it for us!”  Even as it slipped out of his mouth he knew it wasn’t entirely true, and that he had done it mostly for himself.  “I…My dear, I couldn’t bear the thought of losing you.  The apocalypse is starting up soon and there’s no way we can stop it, I’ve exhausted all my other options, I _can’t_ lose you…”

“Why didn’t you t-tell me?” He drew his coat about himself. “Instead of drugging me and doing _that_?”

“That’s the only way Camael would agree to it,” said Aziraphale sorrowfully.  “If you had known, you wouldn’t have agreed, never in a million years.”

“There’s a _reason_ for that!” Crowley hissed.  He put his head in his hands.  “You can’t just decide this for me!”

“I…”  Aziraphale fidgeted.  “You can still back out.”

“ _Back out?_  You think they’re going to accept that?  They’ve probably still got that bucket of holy water lying around.  As soon as my withdrawal leaves my mouth, the archangel will be reaching for his sword.”

Aziraphale wanted to say that it wasn’t true, but this incident had drawn out a nasty side of Camael that he hadn’t known existed.  He had never seen the way the archangel treated demons.  And he thought that Crowley was probably right.

“I’m sorry, my dear. I’m so sorry.  I wanted us to be together.  This was the only thing I could get.”

There was a long silence.

“…I guess I’m back on Heaven’s payroll, then,” said Crowley miserably.

“Will you please let me heal you now?”

Crowley sighed and drew his coat back, exposing the inflamed, red flesh carving the binding sigil on his body.  Aziraphale ran his hand gently over it until it was gone, smoothed out and fresh.

Crowley zipped his coat up.

“Can…can you possibly forgive me, Crowley?”

Crowley leaned into him and let out a small sob.  “I forgive you, Aziraphale, just please don’t leave me alone here…”

Aziraphale buried his face in Crowley’s hair, finding a small patch of blood there and healing the spot where he had banged his head.  “Never.”

Aziraphale rubbed his back as the demon choked back tears.  “Angel, will you please promise?”

“Anything, my dear.”

“Just don’t do it again.”

Aziraphale kissed his head. “I promise you.”

Crowley felt very small. He didn’t have anybody else, and the idea of being alone again was somehow worse than being betrayed.  That feeling of trusting someone else had felt so good he had become dependent on it.  He didn’t have the energy to go back to the way it was before—just himself, constantly fighting everyone else, with worse than nobody to help him.  He almost couldn’t bring himself to care if Aziraphale was lying about not doing it again.  Even if the words were hollow, he needed to hear them.  He needed to trust even if it was going to get him killed.

Aziraphale held him tightly when he started to cry, and he was glad his new boss wasn’t around to see the sight.


	4. Mission Impossible Is Not As Cool As It Sounds

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> On tumblr at http://not-a-space-alien.tumblr.com/post/143872318470/the-coming-events-part-4

The next morning, after the fact, Crowley thought that it might not be that bad after all.  Hell had apparently thought it prudent to keep him out of the loop about the apocalypse this time around, so the fact that the world was ending hit him at the same time as all of this but once he got over the initial panic and reminded himself Aziraphale was going to be with him every step of the way, it seemed more manageable.

Crowley initially was much more resistant to the idea of letting it happen as Aziraphale was, but a phone call to Hell that had similar results to Aziraphale’s first attempts with Camael convinced him Aziraphale’s plan was the best option for both of them.

“My dear, I wouldn’t have given up if I thought there was a way.”

“We could sneak in and find out the location of the antichrist,” said Crowley.  “We could—I don’t know, we could kill him so they can’t continue, or convince him—”

“They’ll be keeping special attention on us,” said Aziraphale gently.  “Camael made it clear to me that I’d be stopped long before I could do anything, and I’m sure Hell has the same planned for you.”

"What about Maltha?"

"I don't think we can count on her help."

Crowley deflated.  He went through the five stages of grief before Aziraphale's eyes.  But they were out of options.

Crowley resolved to drive his car more often before the world ended.  There weren’t any roads in Heaven.

There was quite a bit of moaning and cursing after that, and more alcohol consumed.  Aziraphale made sure he passed out before Crowley this time. Crowley drunkenly tried to impress upon Aziraphale that he was just like James Bond now, a real spy, suave and living on the thrilling edge of danger, but he wasn’t sure how he would deal with the hordes of hot babes who would soon be showing up for him because of it.

They miracled their hangovers away the next morning, and Crowley foggily padded over to Aziraphale’s nightstand to see they had received a correspondence.  It had Crowley’s name written in elaborate gold calligraphy, and it was the first parchment Heaven had ever produced that was designed to be safe for demons to handle.

When he opened it, there was a note that simply said,

_Crowley,_

_Meet me out back behind Aziraphale’s residence in ten minutes. Aziraphale can come._

_-The Power Victoria_

He was relieved that it wasn’t Camael, to be honest.  Aziraphale did his tie for him, pecking him on the cheek.

“I know you can do this. Everything will be all right.  I promise.”

Crowley placed his sunglasses on his face.  “Right.”

They alleyway behind Aziraphale’s shop was narrow and dim.  Victoria was already there, waiting under a peeling fire escape ladder.

“Hello again,” said Aziraphale as they approached.  He was holding Crowley’s arm and had not let go yet.

Victoria stared into her reflection in Crowley’s sunglasses.  She reached her hand out.  “Hello, Crowley.  I don’t think we’ve been introduced yet.  I’m Victoria.”

Her voice was hesitant, almost as if she wanted to apologize.  Crowley shook her hand.  “Nice to meet you.”

“I, er…”  She took out an envelope.  “I was supposed to send this to you, but I thought maybe I should deliver it in person.”  She looked from Crowley to Aziraphale.

Crowley reached out and took the envelope.  “Thanks.”

She turned around and spread her wings.  “Good luck.” And then she was gone.

“She wanted to make sure we were both still here,” said Aziraphale.  “I think she was worried you might have killed me or something.”

Crowley left that one alone. “Come on, let’s open this inside.”

Back in the safety of the shop on Aziraphale’s horrid old sofa , Crowley slipped another parchment out of the envelope.

_To the demon Crawly,_

_We have made the assessment that the Archdemon Baʿal Berith will play a key role in the coming events leading up to the war.  Destroying him would cripple Hell’s forces and grant Heaven an unprecedented advantage.  An ambush while he is on earth would be ideal for removing him from the equation. Retrieve information about his movements we can use to plan such an attack however you see fit and report it to us. This correspondence contains classified information and I’m sure I need not remind you what the price of failure or defection would be.  Burn this note after you’ve received the message._

_-The Archangel Camael_

“That doesn’t sound too hard,” said Aziraphale, somewhat relieved, until he looked over and saw the expression on Crowley’s face.  “My dear, are you all right?”

“ _Berith_ ,” he said.  “They’re really trying to kill me.  Of course taking him out would tip things in favor of Heaven’s forces.  He’s one of Satan’s powerhouse generals.  He’s probably already preparing his factions for the war.”

Aziraphale arms came around him firmly.  He was about to tell Crowley that he didn’t have to do this, but then he remembered the penultimate line of the letter.  “Dear, I… I know you can do this.”

“The _very first_ mission?  How…”

Crowley had never met Ba’al Berith in person and had always been glad for it.  There was no way he could plausibly lie or finagle this information out of anyone else.  He’d have to break in and get it himself.

He already knew what he had to do.  But he really wasn’t looking forward to it.

Crowley suddenly swiveled and clung to him.  “Aziraphale, what are they going to do to me?”

“Heaven or Hell?”

“Either.  I’m in deep shit, Aziraphale.”

“No you’re not.  I promise you, nothing is going to happen.” He held him tightly.  “I wouldn’t have…gotten you into this if I didn’t think you could do it.  Everything is going to be all right.”

“It’s _not_ ,” he sobbed.  All that surety he had had that the universe would take care of him and he would come out on top had vanished, utterly destroyed as reality came crashing down on him.  “Aziraphale, they’re going to find out, I know they will, somehow, or some angel is going to get upset when they see me and get trigger happy, or Camael’s patience with me is going to run out.  You’re probably the only one in creation who wouldn’t want me dead.  If they find out, _Satan himself_ is probably going to be interested in personally punishing me.  I’m _fucked._ ”

Aziraphale grabbed his arms firmly, stopping just short of shaking him.  “I _promise._  I won’t let this end badly for you.  I won’t.”  His hand brushed against Crowley’s cheek, and he stared into Crowley’s golden eyes, which were wet with tears.  “Come on…”

Crowley looked so vulnerable just like he had that time in the cold, so in need of comforting. Aziraphale wanted to recreate that moment under the duvet, when they had both felt so safe and warm.  He felt like he needed to make him scream with pleasure.

He leaned in, letting his hands drop to Crowley’s hips.  “I know what we can do.”

“Aziraphale, what the hell?” he said when Aziraphale’s fingers were on Crowley’s fly.

“Come on,” the angel said, undoing his button.  “The mission can wait a couple minutes.”

“Stop it,” he said, wriggling in Aziraphale’s grasp.

“Come on, Crowley, it’ll make you feel better,” said the angel, pulling his zipper down.

“I said _stop_ ,” he exploded, kicking away from Aziraphale. “You’re doing it again!  Assuming you know what’s best for me!  You self-righteous _prick._ ”  He seemed to choke a little, his face red, and he looked down, muttering something and zipping his pants back up.

Aziraphale was dismayed. “I was only trying to help.”

“You can help by _listening_ to me, angel.  And not treating me like I’m a pet you should coddle.”

“I…”  He held out his hands helplessly.  “I’m sorry.  I’ve hurt you again.”

 _Why did you do this?_ Crowley wanted to scream.  But they had already passed that; it had been done and they both knew why and there was no getting out of it.

Aziraphale set his hands on his lap after a moment’s silence.  “I regret this.  I shouldn’t have.  Will you forgive me?”

 _You know damn well I have to forgive you_ , Crowley thought venomously.   _Or be left alone in this mess you’ve gotten me into._  He forced himself to calm down, and sat back down, leaning into Aziraphale.  Why did he love this stupid angel?

“I forgive you.”

He felt Aziraphale’s fingers in his hair.  “I promise I won’t do it again.  I’ll get better from here on out.”  He gave him one kiss.  “And I know everything will be all right.”

* * *

It was easy for Aziraphale to say that everything would be all right because he got to stay on Earth while Crowley carried out his mission.  He made sure he brought a dog whistle with him, the kind that was too high-pitched for anyone with human ears—or, as it turns out, demon ears—to hear. He stuck it in his pocket as the ground yawned open beneath him, revealing a staircase lit red by infernal fire. He knew where Ba’al’s office was, and he knew he had a secretary in front of his office.  There was no security other than that, because in Hell fear was the main deterrent to keep people out, and historically nobody really had any motivation to try anything, and it would be a sorry day for whoever had the gall to betray Berith.  He made sure no one saw him on his way down, and he waited crouched behind a spire until he heard that the area in front of him was clear.

Crowley peered over the rock, spying the kennels where the hellhounds were kept a ways off.  He transformed into a snake to stay low and reached it without being spotted.

From there he peered into the window and identified the room where the puppies were.  They were fat and squishy and tumbled clumsily over one another.  It was adorable.  He waited until the demon on duty was away, then snatched one, taking it outside with him and hurrying away as quickly as he could.  He was grateful that it was sleepy, because it stayed quiet as he approached the building where Berith’s office was.

He flew himself up onto the roof, the puppy under one arm.  He wiggled a roof tile lose and slithered through it.  He wormed his way on three limbs through the space where the pipes were in the ceiling until he found a broom closet.  He tucked the hellhound puppy into it, tied it to a pole just loosely enough that it would be able to break away if it _really_ tried, and left the door slightly ajar. He then resumed his route through the pipes, finding the office not far off.  Within the distance of which a beast with keen ears could hear.

He peered out a grate at the secretary, who was filling out a hellish amount of paperwork on her desk. And he blew the whistle as loudly as he could, which was silently to everyone except the puppy.

Moments passed by. Then he heard the _tick tick tick_ of tiny clawed feet on the floor, and the hellhound puppy came racing into sight, excitedly barking and hopping about. Crowley slithered back further into the ceiling to make sure he was out of sight.

“Oh _my_ ,” she said, and her voice went high-pitched.  “Ooh, aren’t you _cute?_  What are you doing here?”  There was a brief silence that would be her turning around and looking for where it could have come from.  “Who’s a bad boy?  You must have gotten lost while someone was walking you.  Come here, bad boy, let’s see…”

The clicking of her shoes faded into the distance.  Crowley waited until he was sure there was no one around, and dropped down.  He pressed his ear to the door of Berith’s office and could hear no sounds from inside, not even breathing.  He tried the knob.  It was locked.

Crowley withdrew a lock pick set from within the recesses of his jacket.  His hands were shaking as he undid the lock, straining for any sound of someone coming.  Being James Bond wasn’t quite as fun as the movies had made it out to be.

The lock clicked, and he popped the door open quickly, shutting it quietly behind him.

Berith’s office was surprisingly small, but it was cluttered.  He hurried over to the filing cabinet and pulled it open, flicking through the manila folders therein until he found the section that seemed to be the most recent.

“Okay,” he said, pulling a stack out and flipping through them as quickly as he could.  They all appeared to be the immediate past, and then—

Details of a mission from Lucifer himself.  That required Berith to be on Earth _tomorrow_.  He splayed the papers out and snapped pictures on his cell phone, making sure the shutter noise was turned off first.

He quickly folded everything back into the filing cabinet exactly as it had been.  He wasn’t sure if his stunt with the dog to get the secretary away would raise suspicions about anything at all.  There had never been a double agent in the entire history of the war between Heaven and Hell, because while demons double cross each other they do it for their own benefit, not that of Heaven, and it was more plausible that someone in the kennels had been careless.  It would be the only sign that anything was out of the ordinary at all, he made sure of that.

He peered out of the keyhole, but the secretary’s desk was empty.  He quickly twisted the knob to lock the door, and closed it behind him.

He leapt up and began to wriggle back into the ceiling, but stopped when he heard voices echoing among the pipes, amidst keys jingling and tools clanging.

Crowley cursed.  Maintenance?  What an unlucky break.  He had wanted to avoid being spotted down in Hell at all, and if he was caught moving around in secret like this it, even if it was by maintenance men, it would definitely raise questions.  

Infernal maintenance men.   What a chance thing to have ruin your plan.  He wriggled out and dropped to the floor.  He smoothed his suit out and put on his calm face, walking briskly away from the office and the secretary’s desk.

He rounded the bend and almost bumped into someone.  He looked up and found himself staring at a massive figure with a bull’s head, imposing horns gleaming in the light, his wideset amber eyes flaring down at Crowley.

Ba’al Berith.

Crowley’s eyes widened in surprise.  It was an involuntary reaction; it couldn’t be helped.  Crowley immediately clamped down on the emotion, forcing his face neutral. “Oh, excuse me, sir,” he said, nodding briefly before lowering his head and moving around him.

Berith gave a snort, his head turning to follow Crowley as he moved away from him, and flicked his ear. Crowley figured that since he was working for Heaven now, it was okay for him to pray, so he lobbed a profanity-laden stream of consciousness upwards mentally.

Berith’s hooves thumped on the floor as he turned back and went towards his office.  Crowley still could not exhale.  He nodded politely to the secretary as she passed him.  She was covered in dog hair.

He went directly to the nearest exit of the building, and from there directly to the entrance he had come in at, slinking low to keep out of sight, his nerves shot.

He manifested directly into Aziraphale’s back room.  The angel had two steaming cups of cocoa on the table, as well as a glass menagerie of alcohol bottles.  Crowley flopped onto the couch and pushed his face into the pillow, holding his phone up.

“I got it,” said his muffled voice.

“I knew you could,” said Aziraphale, and knowing exactly what the demon needed:  “Now, why don’t you have something to drink?”

Crowley set about to the urgent task of getting drunk immediately, the expensive and now infinitely more valuable phone set on the end table, almost forgotten about.

“How did it go?” said Aziraphale.

Crowley told him about it through mouthfuls of alcohol.  “It wasn’t so bad,” he said, collapsing onto Aziraphale’s lap.

“Good,” said Aziraphale, running his fingers through his hair.

“Maybe I overreacted,” murmured the demon.

“No, my dear,” said Aziraphale.  “You had every right to be angry with me.”

Crowley swirled the bottle of brandy he had contemplatively.  “Still…”

There was suddenly the _fwomp_ of a supernatural being materializing nearby, and Crowley started so badly he sloshed wine over Aziraphale’s admittedly already ugly pants.

“I expect that’ll be someone to pick up the information,” said Aziraphale, and Crowley sank down into the couch defensively, behind the alcohol bottle like a shield.

Aziraphale stood as Victoria appeared in the room.  “Well?” she said.

Aziraphale crossed his arms. “ _Well?_  What do you think?  He did exactly as asked.”  He pointed to the phone.

There was an awkward silence for a moment.  “Erm…” said Victoria.  “That square is…?”

Aziraphale turned red. “Oh, you—You’ve not spent much time on Earth since the propagation of mobile phones, have you?”

“Afraid not…”

Aziraphale then found himself in the unusual position of being the one more knowledgeable about technology of a pair—usually what happened was Crowley bugged him about upgrading his phone.  Aziraphale swiped Crowley’s screen lock off and accessed his photos.  He tastefully went straight to the ones from Hell, avoiding the other contents of the camera folder, which he was sure had to contain a number of embarrassing photos.

“Don’t look in there,” growled Crowley, confirming Aziraphale’s suspicions.  “Don’t swipe left, don’t swipe right, just look—”

“May I take this—” began Victoria, but Crowley snapped _No_ before she could finish, and muttered something about his apps, and how Heaven was already a big enough pain in his ass without taking away his ability to check on his cats.

In the end, they emailed the photos to Aziraphale, who printed them up with his personal computer. This was a bit difficult because the only one of the three who really knew how to do this sort of thing had wasted no time in getting drunk, and pawed at his phone in an uncoordinated way to try and send the photos to Aziraphale’s computer.  They then had to wait for Aziraphale’s computer to connect to the internet.  Crowley scowled when he found out that the angel was somehow still using dial-up, and Victoria looked alarmed at the screeching sounds the computer made, but said nothing.

They got there in the end. Victoria took the print outs.  “Thank you.”

“Of course,” muttered Crowley.

“I…I mean it.  I was skeptical, to be honest.  But Aziraphale was right about you.”

Crowley blushed.  “Whatever.”

She dared to lightly touch his arm.  “I look forward to getting to know you better.”

Whether it was embarrassment or disbelief, Crowley didn’t respond, looking down at his mobile instead and tapping on the screen.

Victoria vanished through the back door.  Aziraphale took a seat on the couch next to the demon.

“You did well, my dear.”

“Did…Aziraphale, did she mean getting to know me better as we work together?  Or like…in Heaven?  After the war?”

Crowley seemed unsettled by the ambiguity, though Aziraphale couldn’t imagine why.  “I’m not sure.  Why does that bother you?”

Crowley clicked his phone screen off and snuggled against Aziraphale, still leaning drunkenly.  “I still can’t get used to the idea of being in Heaven again, angel.  It doesn’t seem real.”

“It _is_ real,” Aziraphale said, squeezing him.  “Heaven _can’t_ lie.”

“Right…” said Crowley, not sounding convinced on that last part.  “Maybe this isn’t so bad.  Heaven’s not ideal of course, especially forever…”

“But it’ll be tolerable, at least, with you there…”

“Right…We’ll be together.” He dragged himself up and planted a kiss on Aziraphale.  “How do you think the other angels will react?  More like Camael, or more like Victoria?”

“Some of both, I expect, but their opinions won’t matter, Crowley.”

“Sure…”  His eyes slid closed.  “Hey, d’you suppose I’ll get to see Ramial again?”

“…Who?”

Crowley was getting progressively sleepier and sleepier.  “Ramial…s’angel I remember from before I fell….buddies…lost track…”

Aziraphale smiled at him. “Well, we can certainly look for them. They might remember you.”

“Yeah…” said Crowley’s fading voice.  “Thanks, angel…”


	5. About the War

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> on tumblr at http://not-a-space-alien.tumblr.com/post/144052789310/the-coming-events-part-5

A few hours after the information was relayed to Heaven, Aziraphale received a communication.

_Aziraphale,_

_As I’m sure you’re aware, we’ve received word that our target is going to be on Earth tomorrow.  Camael wants you to join my group in his execution.  Please prepare your light armor and sword._

_-The Power Victoria_

Aziraphale hissed a curse, dissolving the parchment with flames.  “Why do they want _me_ to do it?”

“You’ve been on earth the longest,” Crowley said from on the bed.  “Maybe they want your experience as a field agent.”

Aziraphale felt like it didn’t bode well at all.  He grunted angrily, trying to remember where he had put his armor.

“Crowley, will you do something for me?”

“What’s that?”

“When I leave, I’ll draw anti-demon pentacles directed outwards on the shop.  I want you to stay inside where it’s safe until I get back and not let anyone in.”

Relief flooded Crowley. Finally, an easy demand.  “I think I can do that.”

Crowley reached up and kissed him.  “I’m serious,” said Aziraphale.  “I made a promise.  I won’t let anything happen to you.  I mean to put that before any mission Heaven might give me.”

For that time, Crowley felt like everything really was going to be okay.  He watched as Aziraphale drew a complex symbol on the front door with paint. He then stalked around to the side of the shop and repeated the process.

He opened the door and stuck his head in.  “No demons will be able to come in or out,” said the angel.  “Is there anything you need?”

He thought of the fully-stocked liquor cabinet in the back room.  “No, I’ll be fine.”  He leaned over and nuzzled Aziraphale, kissing him on the lips, drawing it out until they had to come up for air.

“I love you, Crowley,” said Aziraphale.

“I love you.  Now, it’s your turn.  Go.”

Overall, it was one of Crowley’s more pleasant missions.  He spent it in the bedroom with a bottle Chardonnay and DVDs of a reality show he loved to make fun of.  He passed out eventually.

* * *

“Thank you for joining us, Aziraphale,” said Victoria.  “We’re almost ready to begin.”

Aziraphale looked around, noting that Victoria only had three other angels with her.  “Is this everyone?” he said.

“Berith has a fairly small escort,” said Victoria.  “It’s him and two other demons.  We’re doing this stealthily, so we’re planning for one strike, one kill on each. Three of us will be attacking Berith himself.”  She spread her wings.  “We need to plant ourselves before Berith arrives, so let’s get going.”

They found the spot where Berith was going to pass through where they could launch an attack, an old, empty parking lot behind a supermarket.  Why here of all places, Aziraphale didn’t know, and he didn’t question it, either.  He wanted Berith to die, but mostly because it would make Crowley look better.

They found their perches, camouflaged themselves, and waited.

After a considerable amount of time, a black car drove into view, circling the parking lot. Aziraphale shifted next to Victoria and the third angel with him, anticipation coursing through his veins.

The door of the car opened, and Berith emerged from the backseat.  Even in his corporation, he was a massive animal of a figure.  The two demons beside him barely came up to his shoulders.

Angels could communicate telepathically with each other in a limited capacity during missions to maintain their silence, and Victoria did that now. _When he reaches that crooked pavement making._

Berith stretched himself out and began to stroll across the parking lot.  “Ashtoreth, when did they say they would be here?”

As soon as his foot crossed the delineated line, five angels shot out at once.  Aziraphale felt his sword _thunk_ into Berith’s chest; Victoria’s skewered his neck, and the third angel’s came exploding out of his eye socket from behind.

There was the distinct sound of bodies falling to the ground.  Aziraphale, panting, withdrew his sword and let Berith follow them, an expression of surprise plastered on his face.

Aziraphale looked around. Victoria and the other angels were sprayed with blood, but all three demons lay dead at their feet.  No one was injured.

Suddenly there was a flurry of motion in his peripheral vision.  A fourth demon appeared from the car, red wings snapping out and launching it into the sky.  Victoria cursed and sprung into the air to follow it.

Aziraphale did the same, but Victoria was a much stronger flier than he was, and he quickly fell behind. He watched as, in the distance, the demon dove straight down, streaking much faster than Victoria could follow, and was swallowed up by an infernal portal that opened up in the ground beneath him.

Even across the distance, he could hear Victoria yelling and cursing.  He pulled up, flapping his wings unsteadily.  Victoria streaked back over to him.  “Aziraphale!  That snake of yours told us there were _two_ other demons with Berith!”

Aziraphale sheathed his sword.  “It’s not like he gave us bad information on purpose!  Plans can change quickly in war, you know that!  Besides, _Berith_ was the target, and he’s dead!  What’s the problem?”

Victoria was seething. She shoved him in the air.  “Well, tell him _don’t_ let it happen again.  There’s no use having a spy if they’re incompetent.”

Aziraphale’s anger flared up.  “Berith is _dead_ thanks to him and you have _no_ justification to be angry with him.”

Victoria slammed her sword back in its sheath.  “We’re done here, Aziraphale, resume your normal post.”

He perched on the roof of the nearest building and watched them disappear into the sky.

* * *

Over the course of his mission, Crowley had gotten drunk enough to make everyone on _Married at First Sight_ look double, and then passed out.  When he woke back up, he saw that Jake and Elizabeth were still going through with this.

“I don’t know what I’ve gotten myself into,” said Elizabeth through tears.

“Don’t marry him, Lizybeth,” slurred Crowley, already well into his next bottle of wine, looking to replicate what he had just done.  “Jack isn’t good for you, any fool could see that, just look at his hair.  Wait, who is Elizabith?”

He heard the front door to the shop open, and when he saw the visage of an angel in battle armor in the bedroom doorway he seized briefly before his drunken mind allowed him to recognize it as Aziraphale.

“How’d it go?”

“All right,” said Aziraphale, beginning to strip his armor off.  “Ba’al Berith is dead.”

Crowley’s eyes widened, and he sloshed wine out of the bottle as he crawled across the bed. “You really killed him?”

“Yes, thanks to your information, and his escort as well.  There were _three_ demons with him, though, not two, and one got away.”

“An extra one?”

“I suppose they must have decided to tag along at the last minute or something.  The files you showed us didn’t mention the one that got away.”

“One got away?” bleated Crowley, tugging at Aziraphale’s sleeve.  “There was an extra one and it got away?”

Aziraphale removed the last of his armor, letting it clatter to the floor.  He held the demon up so he wouldn’t fall off the bed.  “Victoria was a bit cross about that, but I kept reminding her the goal of our mission had been completed.”

“Did it see your face?” said Crowley.

“Hm?  Did it see my face?  I suppose it’s possible.”

“Nononononoooo,” said Crowley, falling facedown onto the bed.  “’ziraflail, it saw you…if anyone has noticed we’re together, they’ll know right away what happened.”

It was impossible to tell if Crowley was being too paranoid.  Double agents hadn’t historically been part of the war because of the obvious problems, so he had no idea at what point they would start to get suspicious.

“Don’t worry,” said Aziraphale gently.  “We don’t know that they’ve seen us together.  As far as they know, we’re still enemies.  And even if they did, there’s nothing to connect you to Berith, if what you told me was true.”

He groaned.  “I knew they were going to find out somehow, Aziraphale, what am I going to do…”

Aziraphale rubbed his back. “If it’s that much of a concern to you, we can tell Heaven you think your cover might have been compromised. We can see what they say.  They have an interest in keeping you alive, so they’ll take note of your concerns.”

He blearily lifted his head, looking at Aziraphale with bloodshot eyes.  “I guess,” he mumbled.

Aziraphale took a shower to get the sweat that had collected under his armor off, and when he came back out Crowley had fallen asleep again, with that dreadful program playing on a loop on the telly.  He turned it off and cradled Crowley, who folded into him and mumbled something incoherent with sleep.  Aziraphale kissed him, treasuring him, grateful to be able to hold him.  He was more convinced than ever that things were going in the right direction.

* * *

There was another communication awaiting them the next morning, this time not addressed to anyone. Aziraphale was the one who opened it, just to be sure, and it read, very generally:

_All celestial agents on nonessential duties are hereby summoned to Heaven for a briefing.  Report immediately._

_-The Archangel Uriel_

Aziraphale burned the letter.  “I think this is it.”

“It?”

“They’re going to announce the war.  That’s the only thing big enough that they would summon all the angels for.  You should come, too.”

“I…”  The idea of actually going into Heaven had been at the back of his mind for a while now, and despite its inevitability he found it tremendously distasteful.  “Are you sure that’s a good idea?  It’s one thing to do what we’re doing here on earth, but up there…”

Aziraphale took his hands. “You _are_ a celestial agent.  We need them to take that seriously.  I’ll be with you, and we can defer to Camael or Victoria.  They can confirm you have a right to be there.”

“The letter’s not _addressed_ to me though.  Even if I’m working for Heaven, I’m still infernal by nature.  I might not even be _able_ to go into Heaven.”

Aziraphale looked troubled.  “You _must_ be able to go in, eventually….While we’re up there, we can talk to them about your concerns about your cover.  I’ll be with you the whole time.”

Crowley reluctantly agreed eventually, and he put on his best suit and his most expensive pair of sunglasses as Aziraphale made their preparations.  He made sure to use the simplest circle possible, one he was pretty sure Crowley would be able to use.

The circle activated, casting specks of divine blue light everywhere.  Aziraphale held out his hand.  “Are you ready?”

Crowley took it. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”

They disappeared with a _fwomp_ , the light closing up on them.

* * *

Crowley was _very_ glad he had been wearing his sunglasses.  If he hadn’t, he probably would have been struck sightless.  Heaven is bright, but to someone who hadn’t seen light like this in millennia, it was positively blinding.

He dropped to his knees immediately, hunching over, covering his face.  Aziraphale knelt over him, trying to shield him.  “Are you all right?”

“Ssssss-Shit.”   He held his hand over his face.  “Okay, I’m okay.”

Aziraphale helped him up, taking him by one arm to guide him as they made their way towards the gate.

“Sssshit,” said Crowley under his breath.

“You think you can do this?”

“Yeah.  Just take me a bit to get used to it.  Just don’t let me bump into anything.”

“Hello!” he said, waving to the gatekeeper.  Crowley kept his head down and his face hidden in his hands.

The gatekeeper gave him a wary look.  “…and who’s this?”

“Erm, trust me on this. You can talk to Camael about it. Actually, we should probably speak to him while we’re here.  It’s an important matter about our mission.”

“Aziraphale…hurtssss…” moaned Crowley.  Aziraphale looked over and realized the massive brass gates were covered in holy iconography, powerful enough that it would repel any demons near enough it.

The gatekeeper looked at them skeptically.  “Camael is already in the meeting, I’m afraid, so you’ll have to wait till afterwards to meet with him one-on-one.  It’s starting soon.  You’d better head inside, Aziraphale, before you miss it.”

Crowley let out a strangulated grunt, and a stream of blood began to drip from his nose.

“Is he all right?” said the gatekeeper.

“ _Oh_ , my,” said Aziraphale, wiping his face.  “Ah, yes, absolutely, give me one moment.”

He led Crowley off to the side, away from the main gate.  He was breathing heavily.

“Are you all right?”

He was only squinting now. “I’m okay.  I’m…not sure if I should go inside.”  He was looking at the high walls, and the angels funneling into the main entrance, with apprehension.

“Okay.”  No mistakes this time.  “Crowley, tell me what you’d like to do.”

He drew his arms around himself.  “Can I wait out here?”

“Really?”

“I don’t want you to miss the meeting.  I’ll be plenty safe.  No other demon would dare show up on Heaven’s doorstep.  I’ll be okay as long as I just stay away from the gate.  And I’ll still be close by, and we can still talk to Camael.”

Aziraphale rubbed his arms. “You’re sure?”

“I’m sure.  Go on.”

Aziraphale kissed him. “I’ll be back.  I’ll have a word with the gatekeeper to make sure there’s no misunderstanding.”

Crowley curled up against the wall and cradled his head as Aziraphale moved off and engaged in an animated discussion with the gatekeeper.  He then moved off, and the gates shut behind him.  The keeper flew up and resumed his usual position perched on one of the posts on either side of the gate.

After a while, Crowley got up and began to pace around the wall.

“You there!” said the gatekeeper.

“Yes?” he shouted back.

“Just don’t try anything!”

“This place gives me a holy migraine, somehow I don’t think I’ll be single-handedly pulling any escapades against the entire Heavenly Kingdom when every angel in creation is—” He stopped suddenly, feeling fluid building up in his lungs, and he doubled over, hacking and spattering blood all over the cloudy floor.  The gatekeeper seemed concerned, but of course it wouldn’t do for him to express anxiety over a demon’s health.

Crowley withdrew a packet of cigars from his breast pocket and snapped his fingers to light one.  He took a drag, hoping it would do something, and puffed smoke into the air.

Now the gatekeeper radiated annoyance, but still said nothing.

Crowley’s pounding headache was growing worse.  He began to move further from the gate, but it didn’t seem to help.  The entire place was just so damned _bright._  And it smelled of holy water and crucifixes and everything he had to avoid religiously.

He put his hands on his thighs again and coughed, feeling blood dripping down his chin.  When he went to wipe it, he found a new stream had started from his nose.

A figure was coming towards him from the distance.  Actually, it was heading towards the gate, but when it saw him, it changed course.

It was an angel, her hand on her sword at her side.  “What are you doing here, foul creature?” she snarled.  “Skulking around on Heaven’s doorstep.”

“I’m working for Cam—” He stopped, blood flooding his lungs again, and he choked.  The angel watched as he fell to his knees, ropey strings of crimson saliva dripping from his mouth.

The gatekeeper had leapt down and was approaching them.  “Marek, he’s allowed to be here, don’t pull your weapon out.”

“But it’s a _demon_.”  The newcomer wrinkled her nose.  “And it’s smoking.  Heaven is a no-smoking zone.”

“You’re late for the meeting.  Go in.”

“I can’t go in and leave a demon here,” said the newcomer.  “Are you sure about this?”

“I’ve gotten confirmation from Aziraphale.  We’re going to talk to Camael afterwards.”

“You took Aziraphale’s word for something?”

The gatekeeper’s face clouded with doubt.  Crowley was hit by a new wave of pain and vomited blood.

“I-I think I’d better go,” he said, wobbling to his feet.

“Did you really think you could sit in the holy realm and not feel its effects?” the angel Marek sneered. “The very presence of God is enough to kill you.  It’s in the air you’re breathing.  You’re a fool as well as an animal.”

Crowley put his hand to his mouth, his knees buckling.  The gatekeeper grabbed his arm to steady him.  “I think you’d better leave, too.”

“Will you tell Aziraphale I went back down?” he said, trying to locate the entrance from which they had arrived.

“I will.  Go on.”

Crowley wasn’t sure he would make it, but his legs managed to hold out all the way to the exit.  He felt the pain receding as he descended back to earth.

Fresh air filled his lungs as he materialized behind Aziraphale’s shop.  “Oooooh,” he breathed.   “Oh, thank God.”

He took out his mobile and began to type a message on it.  Hopefully Aziraphale’s was on silent.

_Conditioned worsened, decided to head down. We can talk to Camael down here.  Try to_

That was as far as he got, because then there were multiple pairs of hands on him, one clamping around his mouth, another tugging at his shirt and pulling his collar down. Simultaneously there was an explosive, burning pain on his neck.

He dropped his mobile, his hands flying to the arms around him, and as he felt walls slamming into him at the access to his demonic powers, he knew exactly what had been burned onto him.  Except he knew this time there was someone much more sinister than Aziraphale on the other end of that septacle branding iron.

“Hello, Crowley,” said an infernal voice in his ear.  “We’d like a word with you, please.”


	6. Mistake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> on tumblr at http://not-a-space-alien.tumblr.com/post/144276227020/the-coming-events-part-6

They shoved him roughly into an office and made him sit in the only empty chair in the room.  The other was a roller chair occupied by Dagon.  
His assailants finally came out from behind him, revealing them to be Hastur and another demon he had never spoken with, but recognized as one of Ba’al Berith’s soldiers.

Oh, clever move sending _Hastur_ to collect him.  He probably had been the one to make sure it went right this time after seeing how far he and Ligur had gotten last time by giving him warning that they were coming.

He tugged at his collar, fingering the Solomonic seal on his neck, sweat collecting on the parts of his neck not inflamed with burn marks.  “I think there’s been a mistake.”

Hastur and the third demon took their positions on either side of Dagon’s chair.  Dagon tented his fingers, the fin on his head rising, his buggy eyes blinking out of synch and not seeming to fix on anything in particular in the room.  “I don’t think so, Crowley.  We need to talk.”

“Ah, yes…what about? Hm?” His corporation was going absolutely haywire.  Normally he could suppress his adrenaline rush, but not with this damned thing on him. He didn’t know his heart could beat this fast.

“Well,” said Dagon, drawing an assortment of files out of his desk and dropping them in a stack. “What exactly you’ve been doing recently.  We have noticed some…alarming suspicions.”

“What could you possibly mean?”  

“Well, for one thing, you’ve been, to put it plainly, shagging an angel,” said Dagon.  His throat expanded and contracted rapidly, and his eyes sunk into his head and re-emerged after a blink.  “And that very same angel was seen at the execution site of Archdemon Ba’al Berith, by an agent who barely escaped the same fate as him.”

_Shit._  Crowley tried not to squirm, but he could feel himself growing red and his pupils widening in panic.

“Ba’al Berith was to be a _very_ valuable asset to our master in the coming events, Crowley.  Do you understand the position his loss has put us in?”

“Okay, first of all,” said Crowley, holding his finger up.  “I didn’t even know Berith was dead.  That angel—that angel, that’s my adversary, I’ve been working at him for six thousand years to try and corrupt him, and I’ve finally succeeded, the wiles of the flesh have affected him because of his corporation.  It’s nothing more than—I’m not attached to him—I certainly wouldn’t have told him anything.”

“That’s very interesting, Crowley,” said Dagon.  “Especially since, at your initial evaluation, and all subsequent evaluations, you tested lowest at seduction.  You’ve never run a single mission that involved seducing a human, you’ve certainly never seduced an angel.  Did you practice?  How did you suddenly improve so much?”

“I…  I watched some films.  Humans are very good at it.”

Hastur was sneering at him with hatred.  “Mm,” said Dagon.  “Interesting. And, may I ask, what exactly you were doing in Hell, oh, two days ago?  Berith’s personal assistant reported that she saw you, but we had you on the schedule to perform a temptation mission at that time.  What would you have needed to go into Hell for?  Why did you not let us know you would be visiting? What business did you have with Berith?”

“I was…  I was visiting a friend.”

The unnamed demon beside Dagon made a disgusted sound.  Dagon said, “Crowley, you’re a terrible liar when you’ve lost control of your corporation, you know that?”

He opened his mouth to respond, but nothing came out, and he looked down.

“And finally,” said Dagon. “Would you care to explain the fact that you and the angel Aziraphale were seen meeting together with a celestial agent, a power named Victoria, who was seen relaying written materials to you?”

This was it.  Crowley knew he was sunk.  He didn’t bother to respond.  He could pull no lie out, no cleverly spun story to save himself.

“You bloody fool,” said Hastur.

“You’ve misstepped, Crowley,” said Dagon.  “Seriously.”

“What did they promise you?” said Hastur.  “That they’d let you come back into Heaven after the war?  An eternity with your _sweetheart?_ ”  This last word was said with considerable venom.

“I’m surprised you fell for it, Crowley,” said Dagon.  “I had always pegged you as more intelligent than that.  Did you really think they’d let you back in?  Did you really think this angel loved you?”

Crowley squeezed his eyes shut, afraid that saying anything would make it worse.

“They were just using you. It’s obvious.  You tried to tell us you had seduced him, but it’s the other way around.  Think about it, did he show any interest in being… _with_ you before this began?  Was there any official contract?  Is there anything stopping them from dropping you and denying they promised you anything?”

Crowley lowered his head miserably.  “He wouldn’t do that to me.”

Dagon smirked. “Didn’t think so.  But he obviously would, if you’re here at _our_ mercy.”

Crowley _hated_ being at someone else’s mercy…mostly because they never _showed_ it _._ “I can still be of use,” he said.  “I can relay _their_ movements to you, I can feed them bad information, I can—”

“You can _shut up_ ,” snarled Hastur.

Dagon stood.  “Crowley, what you have done has betrayed your master, the entire legion of Hell, and everything we have worked for.  You have jeopardized our position in the war, and you have set a dangerous precedent that other demons may consider trying to follow.  You must be dealt with appropriately, you realize.”

“I won’t do it again.”

“No, you won’t,” said Hastur.  “You won’t be able to, once the higher ups are done with you.”

_This can’t be happening,_ thought Crowley.   _He promised…_ But he had come to learn that Aziraphale’s promises didn’t mean much. Weren’t _demons_ supposed to be the liars?

* * *

The meeting in Heaven was exactly what Aziraphale expected it to be:  the announcement of the war with a lot of shouting and cheering while not saying much of anything at all or giving real information, which is what Heaven was good at, of course.

He knew something was wrong the moment he saw Crowley was missing outside the gates, and then got back down to Earth and saw Crowley’s mobile on the ground.  He picked it up and swiped, revealing that the messaging app was open, with half a message to _him_ typed out.

“Oh, dear.” _I shouldn’t have left him by himself…_  

But he didn’t _know_ that anything was wrong.  Maybe Crowley had gone back to his own flat.  (He’s been sleeping here since this all started, why would he go back to his flat at a time like this?)  Maybe he had run to the corner store.  (He would have stayed in the bookshop, what would he possibly need at the store?)  Maybe he had dropped his coveted and expensive mobile device on the floor for fun and then decided to hide for fun. (Aziraphale was desperately coming up with more and more implausible explanations to try and stem the tide of panic rising up inside of him.)

He waited a few hours, checked some regular spots, and there was still no sign of him.  He tried calling his mobile a few times, before the sound of his ringtone from the end table reminded him why that would be fruitless.

He clenched his fists and materialized a piece of parchment.  He took out a pen.

_Camael_

_We still need to talk about the matter I mentioned to you at the meeting today, but Crowley has disappeared.  I’m concerned that Hell has caught on to what he’s been doing and has removed him.  Please advise._

_-The Principality Aziraphale_

He folded the letter up and wrote _Urgent_ in red letters under Camael’s name on the envelope.  He then walked over to the spot where he could send his mail out to the ethereal sphere.

He stopped.  There was a small package in the spot already, one with a note taped neatly on top.  It was Hell’s stationary, but it was addressed to Aziraphale.

His own correspondence forgotten, he took the letter with trembling hands and opened it.

_To the angel Aziraphale_ , it read it a scrawling font. _It’s always tragic to hear about an acquaintance passing.  Rest assured we hold accountable those responsible for what has happened.  We’ll take good care of the Serpent.  Since you seem so interested in fucking him, we’ve sent you the appropriate piece of him as a token of our appreciation, so you can go fuck yourself.  We’ll hold onto the other pieces of him._

Aziraphale dropped the letter, looking at the package.  Blood was faintly seeping out from the bottom of it.

He knew what was in it. He didn’t want to see it.  So he didn’t, leaving it unopened, going immediately to the back room, tearing it up and opening the portal to Heaven once more.

“Back so soon?” said the gatekeeper as he approached.

“Not _now,_ ” he said, stomping past him.

“Aziraphale!” said an angel as he reached the appropriate building.  “That announcement earlier was pretty exciting, huh?  The war is finally—”

“Later,” snapped Aziraphale, physically pushing him out of the way.

“Aziraphale,” said Camael’s assistant as he came in.  “Is this urgent? Camael’s busy at the moment.”

“Out of the way,” said Aziraphale, moving around the desk, and banging the door open.

Camael looked up from the papers he had been writing on.  “Aziraphale? What’s the matter?”

“I’ve received a correspondence from Hell.  They’ve caught on to what Crowley did for us and are holding him in Hell, with extreme punitive measures being taken.”

Camael set his pen down, leaning back in his chair.  “Oh. Oh, no.”

“What do you plan to do? Keeping in mind he’s a celestial agent, of course.”

Camael rubbed his chin. “We’ll have to change our tactics. I had planned to be working with information about Hell’s movements for a bit longer.  You’ll probably be reassigned, now.  The war is gearing up to begin full-scale.”

“Yes, of course, and that’s after the rescue mission, right?”

“What rescue mission?”

“The rescue mission to get Crowley out of Hell.”

Camael rolled his eyes. “I was afraid you’d say that.”

Aziraphale exploded with anger.  “He put _everything_ on the line for us!  And he came through!  He did exactly as we asked!  You can’t default on your end of the bargain!”

Camael gave him an almost piteous look.  “Aziraphale, my end of the bargain was _asylum._ Which, by definition, means he comes to us and finds us welcoming him.  It does not necessitate any sort of rescue or assistance in the field.”

“You _coward!_  You know very well he can’t come to us!  You’re just using a loophole to abandon him!”

“Look, this was inevitable, Aziraphale,” said Camael.  “You can’t play both sides in the war between Heaven and Hell.  It’s just not something you can do.”

Aziraphale stared at him. “You never intended to give him asylum,” he said in a strained voice.  “You had always just planned to get as much use out of him as possible before Hell caught on, and then let them have him.  Because…”  Thinking of how Crowley had been unable to physically come into Heaven, he suddenly realized: “You never _had_ the authority to let him back into Heaven, did you? You were _counting_ on this to happen, weren’t you?”

Camael was flicking his pen back and forth.  “I’m not denying it.”

“Are you pleased with yourself?  You lied! And double crossed, on a level par with any demon!  You can’t get away with this!”

“And why not?  What evidence is there I promised him anything? I’m sure you’ll find all the angels I brought with me to our little bargaining session with your _pet_ will happily deny I promised anything outside of my authority.”

“Victoria,” said Aziraphale, reeling.  “And that other angel, they’re your subordinates, they have to do what you say, and there was never a written contract—”

“He’s no longer of use,” interrupted Camael, “and certainly not worth the resources of an excursion into Hell to get him back.  There will be no rescue party.  The sooner you accept this, the sooner we can get on with the war.  If it makes you feel any better, he might still be alive after the war, and you can say goodbye before he’s tossed into the Pit.”

“He doesn’t deserve this.”

“He’s a _demon._  He had the exact same chance as you and me.  He rejected the Almighty and, with that, forfeited his chance at anything good and righteous.  His lot in life is torment and rejection.  He doesn’t deserve anything _but_ this.  I don’t care if by some fluke he managed to feel love, that doesn’t change anything about what he is at heart.  He was never fit to even be a tool for us.  You’re a fool for thinking otherwise.”

Aziraphale had never been so livid in his entire life.  “You are a _disgrace_ to the title of archangel.”

“That’s rich, coming from a principality that got demoted there from cherub.”

Aziraphale thought it prudent to leave the office because his eyes were threatening tears.  He slammed the door behind him, storming past the assistant without answering his concerned queries.

He found the first waiting area nearby and sat, hiding his face in his hands.

“I’m so sorry,” he whispered, tears streaming down his face now.  “I promised you something I couldn’t deliver.  I made such a terrible mistake, trampled all over your will, and now _this_ is what comes of it.  I’m so, so sorry.”

What was he going to do? Even if he could somehow stop the apocalypse, that wouldn’t help Crowley at all now.

He could go into Hell by himself.  That was a suicide mission.  He would gladly sacrifice himself to right this, but he wanted to do something that might actually have a chance of getting him out.

He could wait until the war was close to over, when Hell’s forces would be too crippled to fight him, and get him then.  But there was no telling what condition he might be in then…

His thoughts once again turned to Maltha.  She was a constant unknown in the situation.  Where  _was_ she?  She had power in Hell, surely she'd be willing to try and help Crowley?  But it would be no small favour to ask her to turn against Satan himself, and he had no leverage with her besides a few days they had spent together on Earth.  And even to an outsider like Maltha, turning traitor for Heaven was not easily forgivable.  And he still had no way of contacting her.

He heard loud, boisterous voices echoing down the hallway.  He wiped the tears from his face and looked down so he wouldn’t make eye contact with whoever was coming.

A neurotic voice faded into words.  “Michael, please, be reasonable.”

“I am reasonable!” said a second voice, booming, jolly.

“Hardly,” said a third.

There was the sound of heavy stomping, and an enormous pair of boots made their way into Aziraphale’s field of vision.  “Aziraphale! It’s been such a long time!  Good to see you.”

He looked up and saw that the archangel Michael, already dressed in his heavy battle armor, was looking at him kindly, deep chestnut eyes softening as he saw the look on Aziraphale’s face.  “What’s wrong?  You look upset.  Aren’t you excited to finally vanquish the forces of darkness?  I can’t wait to crack some skulls!”

“I’ve lost a dear friend,” Aziraphale said.  “I was lied to, and now there’s nothing I can do to help him.”

Michael’s armor clattered as he sat beside him.

“Michael, we’re going to be late,” said one of the angels who had been hovering at Michael’s shoulder.

“We’ve got a few minutes, Angelo, I want to catch up with Aziraphale.”

The angel, Angelo, had a clipboard in his hand, and he grunted in annoyance and began to cross things out on it.

“What happened with your friend, Aziraphale?  You can’t give up hope.  Surely there’s still something you can do.  You can’t lose hope.”

“He’s in Hell,” said Aziraphale, wringing his hands.  “Some may say he belongs there, but he has such a good heart.  You might not believe me, Michael, but it’s true.  I know they’re doing terrible things to him.” An idea suddenly somersaulted across the room and slammed into his brain with the force of a cannonball. “Michael, you do seem _awfully_ excited for the war.”

“Absolutely!” said the archangel.  He stood, drew his sword, and made a few loops in the air.  Angelo stood back.  “I just wish they would let me start skewering the wicked sooner!  I’ve been sitting idle for too long!  They won’t give me a mission yet!”

“That’s what I was thinking, Michael,” said Aziraphale.  “If you’d like to get out there—oh a nice warmup for the big battle, yes?  Someone with _your_ skill could certainly lead an excursion into Hell.”

“Damn right!” said Michael, slamming his sword back into its scabbard.  “Never had reason to, but it’s something I’ve always wanted to do.” He threw his arm around Angelo and drew him close, and the lesser angel got an annoyed look on his face.  “Can’t you just picture it, us against entire hordes of demons, fighting side by side, the odds stacked against us, but powering our way to glorious victory?  I wish they would give me the chance!”

Aziraphale jumped up. “Why don’t we do it, then, Michael, it’d be fun!  Camael says it’s not worth the resources to go into Hell, but—”

“Resources?” Michael thundered.  “I am the archangel Michael, the sword of Heaven, bearer of divine wrath!  The only resources we need are _these guns._ ”  He flexed his biceps.

“Michael, no,” said Angelo. “That’s a senseless risk for the purpose of—er, what are we doing again?”

“Saving Aziraphale’s dear friend!” said Michael cheerily.  “Come on, let’s go talk to Gabriel!”

“Erm, make sure you save a spot for me on the team, yes?” Aziraphale called after him as he dragged Angelo down the hall.

“Of course, Aziraphale! You can count on it.”

Aziraphale stood there until the sounds of Angelo’s exasperated protests faded into the distance, then turned in the direction he would need to go to visit the armory.  He was going to need heavy armor, which he hadn’t used in millennia, and with the war gearing up no one would question him when he asked for some.

_I’m coming, dear boy.  I’ll make this right.  I’ll make them give you what they promised._


	7. Satan Himself

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> on tumblr at http://not-a-space-alien.tumblr.com/post/144369650340/the-coming-events-part-7

Aziraphale followed his summons to meet the group at the gates of Heaven at the designated time. Angelo was still arguing with Michael, who was happily standing amidst a group of his favorite warriors.

“This is exceedingly dangerous.”

“Gabriel approved it,” Michael shot back, pulling his helmet on.

“He _didn’t_ ,” said Angelo.  “You just told him you were going down and then left to get ready.  You didn’t even tell him why.  You're disobeying again."

“Oh, yeah,” he said. “Listen, I just need to fight, all right?  Let out some of this primal energy.  Aziraphale can take care of…erm, his friend, right?”

“Yes.”

“Good.”  Michael beamed.  “Angelo, I know how good you are at planning, you can handle that part.”

Angelo groaned.  Then his attention snapped towards the gate.

A figure was coming towards the group, and Aziraphale’s hackles rose defensively.

“Michael,” said Camael. “Gabriel told me you’re going into Hell.”  He shot Aziraphale a stormy look.

“That’s right!” said Michael, wrapping his arm around Camael’s neck and pulling him into an embrace. “Just a warmup before the real war starts!”

“Michael, why do you never do as you’re told?” Camael barked, extricating himself from the other archangel’s grasp.  “You’ve been given instructions to wait in Heaven until you’re needed.”

“I _am_ needed!”

When Camael looked at Aziraphale, the principality put on the most venomous, haughty, malicious sneer he could manage.

Camael’s face contorted into rage, but he turned back to Michael.  “You are aware you’re rescuing a _demon,_ right?”

“Huh?” said Michael. “Rescue a demon?  From Hell?”

“No demon deserves a rescue. He’s made his bed, now leave him to it. He is where he belongs.”

“Aziraphale, you never said your friend was a _demon_ ,” said Michael, sounding a little hurt.

Both Michael and Camael were looking at Aziraphale expectantly.  This time he knew _exactly_ what to say, because he knew that Michael valued brotherhood and loyalty, and that told him how to press Michael’s buttons.  And once Michael got set off, few things could stop him.

“Care to tell them why he needs a rescue?” said Aziraphale, with an icy glare at Camael.  “Hm?  Care to tell them why?  Hm?”

Camael was suddenly hesitant, looking at Michael with the expression of someone who was about to set off a bomb.

“What do you mean, Aziraphale?” said Michael.  “What’s Camael got to do with this?”

“That’s quite enough—” began Camael, but Aziraphale cut him off.

“This demon was acting as a double agent for Camael, who promised him safety.  He’s gone back on his word, and now he’s left someone sworn to the service of Heaven in the clutches of the Adversary.”

Oh, _that_ did it.  Michael’s countenance twisted into disgust and anger.  “You manipulative _backstabber_.”

“I _didn’t,_ ” Camael said desperately.  “Technically I haven’t—”

Michael shoved him. “It’s because it’s a demon, isn’t it? You _can’t_ go back on your word, or you’re no better than they are.” He pointedly turned his back, faced Aziraphale.  “We’ll get him back, don’t worry.”

Aziraphale looked over Michael’s shoulder to shoot a smug look at Camael.

“I’m going to have a word with Gabriel about this,” said Camael, slinking back towards the gates.

“We’re the same rank!” shouted Michael after him.  “You can’t do anything about it!”  He shook his head.  “Don’t worry about him, guys.”

Angelo drew Aziraphale aside as Michael continued to put on his battle armor.  “Aziraphale, I don’t agree with what we’re doing, but it’s my job to stay with Michael, and he seems to want to do it, so I’m shelving my complaints.  I’ve drawn up a battle plan.  Everyone else has already been informed, but I wanted to talk to you specially.”

“Specially?  Whatever for?”

“You’re a field agent; your specialty has never been fighting.  Principalities function best on earth.  I think it’s a mistake for you to come on this mission.  You might get seriously hurt.”

He looked towards the group of warrior angels beyond Angelo and pictured those brutes handling an injured Crowley.  With Aziraphale’s luck, Michael would forget why they went down there at all and leave without him.  “No, I want to go.  I can hold my own with a sword, and I promise I won’t get in the way.”

“I thought you might say that,” said Angelo, grimacing.  “Fine, if you must.  Michael seems to favor it.  Have you ever been in Hell?”

“Can’t say that I have.”

“We have some reports about its layout.  They’re not terribly detailed, but it’s enough to know where we’re going.  Our key priority is going to be speed.  The faster we can get in and out, the less of a chance we’ll draw the attention of a demonic force we can’t handle.”

“Got it.”

“I want to emphasize this, Aziraphale.  We must be fast and stay together in a tight group.  We must pierce hell like a spear if we are to make it out again.  As soon as our feet land in Hell, we can’t stop moving until we’re out again.”

“I understand.”

“Michael is going to be the main force cutting down what’s in our way.  No one but an archdemon would pose a serious challenge for him. And _don’t_ tell him I said that, because he might go looking for one. Our main job is to clean up what he misses.  If we can make sure no demon gets away to raise an alarm, it will slow Hell’s response to our invasion.  I’ll be the navigator, so it’s _imperative_ the company follows my directions.  We get in, we grab the target, and we get out.”

“Er….How do you know where we’re going?”

“Simple,” said Angelo sourly.  “The lowest part of the ninth circle of Hell.  That’s where the traitors are punished.  The very bottom.  Michael is absolutely thrilled.”

* * *

Michael was at the very front of the company, of course, looking excited, his enormous wings twitching with anticipation.  Angelo was hovering beside him, relaying some instructions that the archangel did not seem interested in listening to.  The rest of the warriors were fanned out behind him.  Aziraphale was in the very back and was glad for it.  His swordsmanship was rather rusty; ramming it through Berith had been the most practice he had had recently.

“The first circle of hell is limbo!” said Angelo to everyone.  “We shouldn’t expect much resistance there, but be prepared. Things get progressively harder as we go down.  Ready? Forwards!”

The clouds parted, and Michael and Angelo stepped off and down, disappearing.

Aziraphale felt it growing hotter and hotter as they descended.  He tightened his grip on the hilt of his sword.

With a _fwump_ and sizzle, the company materialized in a dim space.  The ground was lined with withered grass and dry flowers, and the sky was black, as though the sun were sucking up light instead of providing it.  There was the sound of someone sobbing distantly.

Aziraphale followed as Michael led the way.  He seemed disappointed not to encounter any demons.  They trooped quickly over the dry earth, their armor jangling in the relative silence. Gaunt, ghostly human figures scuttled out of sight as they approached, almost mouse-like in their timidity, gloomy whispers permeating the air.

“The second circle!” shouted Angelo as the exit came into sight—a tunnel with a sharp slope downwards. “Brace yourselves!”

Aziraphale’s wings beat to propel him down to follow, trailing behind, suddenly assaulted by loud noise and flashing lights and animalistic screams.  There were bestial figures everywhere, naked bodies twisted together in strange positions, and hundreds of frenzied eyes turned their way at their entrance, every conceivable shape, size, and colour, all blown wide with ecstasy and surprise and hatred, flashing in the irregular light.

The _shing_ of Michael’s sword coming out of its scabbard sounded like a gasp of pleasure.  

And then it was absolute _madness_ ; in the ensuing chaos, Aziraphale saw the world in consecutive flashes of still images as the light strobed, illuminating Michael as he worked like a terrifying machine, scores of demons and spirits falling by the second, mowing forward too fast for Aziraphale to even follow. The warriors on either side of him fanned out and saw to those that slipped past him.

In the end, Aziraphale only had to stab one demon because that was all that made it to him.

“The third circle!” said Angelo, and Aziraphale was glad for the warning, because he almost didn’t see it until the rest of the company in front of him disappeared from sight.

He emerged into cold and humidity and among canine snarls.  Michael had already soared in a huge arc and dove straight into the center head of an enormous, three-headed beast, which reared back and let out ferocious, infernal sounds.

“Leave Cerberus!” shouted Angelo.  The angels had simply flown over the obstacle, arcing directly towards the exit. Michael zoomed away from the injured animal and resumed his position at the head just as they passed into the fourth circle.

Aziraphale’s wings smashed into things as he came out, precarious towers of wooden crates and boxes and mounds of trash, demons skittering around and leaping at them from above.

Michael once again proved to be all they needed; he carved a swathe of destruction right towards the exit.

“Fifth circle!”

This one was humid, dark water spreading out below them, roiling and screaming.  The air was thick with twittering demons flying like bats, and Michael had picked up so much speed that he blasted through them with hardly a notice.  Aziraphale stayed in the updraft of the larger angels’ wings.

“Sixth circle!”

They emerged onto a rock face pockmarked with dark holes, geysers of flame spouting up and licking at them.  Michael actually slowed down so that he could cut through the horde of demons that threw themselves at him.  By the time they reached the innermost part, the archangel was drenched in blood from head to toe and grinning manically; he seemed to be enjoying himself immensely.

“Seventh circle!”

The company was lit from below by infernal red light being cast by streams of boiling red liquid. Demons with feathered wings mobbed them upon entrance, and Aziraphale found himself doing a bit of sword work to keep them off himself, but they soon crossed it without much trouble.

“Eighth circle!”

They emerged into an enormous antechamber with a huge winged creature in the air.  All three of its heads snapped towards them as they entered, and its sinuous body swam through the air in a serpentine motion at them.

It was an archdemon, it had to be.   Michael’s wings pumped fiercely to propel himself towards the demon, while the warriors with him spread out to meet the lesser demons that accompanied him. Aziraphale struggled to keep up, trying to find the entrance to the ninth circle, that one that held his dearest, tearing through anything that came close.

Michael had already severed one head off the winged creature.  Aziraphale spotted the entrance and moved towards it.

“Aziraphale, we have to stay together!” Angelo shouted.

He stopped abruptly in the air, deflecting the attacks of a demon that flew into his face, silently begging Michael to hurry up because now that they were this close he could hardly stand it anymore.

Finally, the demons surrounding them lay dead in an enormous, gory heap at their feet.  

“The ninth circle,” said Angelo.  “We should move quietly through here.  Satan himself may be inside.  We want to escape his notice.”

Even Michael looked a bit put off by that idea, and they dropped to the ground, diving into the entrance to the lowest circle of hell.

It was markedly different. They had to draw their wings in to fit into the entryway, which tunneled down and then bent to level out, like a hallway hewn roughly out of dark stone.

 _Aziraphale,_ Angelo broadcasted mentally to the company, _Come to the front.  You can identify the target best._

He did so, creeping along until he was by Angelo’s side.  Screams were echoing further down the hallway.

An unsuspecting demon rounded the corner and found itself skewered by three blades at once.  The company carefully stepped over its body.

“ _Aziraphale!_ ” came a very faint scream, bouncing to them through the narrow space.

 _That’s him,_ Aziraphale said, frenzied emotions coursing through him.   _He’s there!  Down there!_

He had to force himself not to rush ahead of Michael and Angelo.  There were agonized sounds getting louder and louder as they drew near, and they were definitely coming from Crowley.

“Please!  No!   _No!”_

Aziraphale tightened his grip on his sword.  His vision was narrowing.

Just as the sounds reached their crescendo, Angelo suddenly pulled Aziraphale’s collar, yanking him back.

 _Why have we stopped?_ he projected, not looking back, still creeping forwards a bit.  The sounds were coming from a stone doorway sunk into the wall directly ahead of them, but it was at an angle and he couldn’t see what was inside it.  But he could _hear_ Crowley’s voice sobbing more intensely than he had ever heard.  His blood was pumping hot and furious, his hand shaking on his sword hilt, eager to kill, something, _anything_ to make those sounds stop.

 _We can’t go in,_ said Angelo.

 _What do we do?_ said Michael, his voice laden with panic.

 _We should turn back_ , said a third voice.

 _What?_ snarled Aziraphale, with as much anger as it was possible to communicate through the mental channel.   _Why?_  He felt like Michael had been this entire trip, eager for violence, the thirst demanding to be satiated.

“Please stop,” begged Crowley’s voice.

There was the sound of tearing flesh, and a shriek that sounded like a wounded animal.

“I see you’re a screamer. It’s a wonder that angel didn’t go deaf,” said another voice, bouncing out from the stone doorway.

 _What’s the problem?_ Aziraphale prompted again, straining against the urge to completely ignore orders, his knuckles white on his sword.

 _We can turn around and come back,_ began Angelo, sounding like he was desperately calculating alternate plans on the fly.

“I wonder how many different ways I can dismember you.  Are you starting to wish you had been created mortal yet?”

_I have to help him._

_Aziraphale, stay where you are._

The other voices in the channel chattered rapidly about an alternate plan.  Aziraphale stood firmly planted where he was, refusing to entertain any reason for leaving, hating the other angels for making him listen to this, hating whoever was causing those sounds, absolutely thirsty for their blood.

“Aziraphale, help me!” warbled the broken voice.  “Please!”

“You bloody idiot,” said the other voice.  “He’s the one who got you here in the first place.  Pathetic.  You still think he cared about you.”

Crowley whimpered and sounded like he was trying to mount a defense against the accusation, but it dissolved into a wretched moan accompanied by the sound of bones snapping.  Uncontrollable, white-hot rage surged through Aziraphale, and he started forwards.

 _Aziraphale, don’t go in there!_ said Angelo.

 _Aziraphale, wait,_ said Michael.

_I can’t wait any more, can’t you hear what they’re doing to him??_

“Aziraphale, you promised…” he wailed.

“You’re too much,” said the torturer’s voice.  Then, in a singsong voice, “I’ll be right back.  Don’t go anywhere.”

“P-please…”

Then there were footsteps rapidly approaching the entryway, and a chorus of voices in his head telling him _No, Don’t, Get back, Let’s get away, Don’t you realize? What are you—_

And Aziraphale stood, took one step towards the entryway just as Crowley’s torturer was reaching it, and rammed his sword through the space where his target’s head would be in a second.

It buried itself in an eye socket as soon as the head appeared, and Crowley’s assailant jerked backwards, but Aziraphale yanked his blade out and jammed it in again, this time in the other eye socket.  And his target had slid down to towards the floor, but he kept going, pulling his sword out and ramming it back in over and over, until the demon was hardly more than a pulp of blood and bones and diced guts on the floor, the holy weapon wreaking irreversible damage on its infernal body.

The other angels in the company stood in stunned silence.  Aziraphale stepped over the body and staggered into the room, his sword dragging on the ground.

There was Crowley, hanging from a huge hook on the ceiling skewered through his wrists, his toes barely brushing the ground.  Chunks were missing from his flesh all over, as though someone had been eating him. He was barely recognizable under all the blood.  His golden eyes, clouded over, snapped up to Aziraphale, and he began to struggle, gasping.

Aziraphale’s sword clattered to the floor and he reached out both hands to him.

“Az-Aziraphale, please help me,” he said, as though through a fog.

“I will.  I’m here now.”  He reached up and grabbed the hook, yanking it out quickly, and the demon gave a gasp of pain.  Aziraphale hoisted him up, and his arms came around his shoulders, clinging to him.

“Aziraphale, _what did you do?_ ” said Angelo.

“Give me a moment!” Aziraphale snapped, adjusting Crowley until his small noises of pain died off, and making sure he had him firmly in hand.  “I’ve got you now, my dear.”

"Azzssszzsziraphale," Crowley hissed.

"I'm here.  Don't worry."  He held him tightly, then glanced back at the angels still behind him.  “What did I do what?”

He turned around and saw that the company was gathered around the body of the demon Aziraphale had killed, looking at it with horror.  And now that his anger had fizzled out and he could think clearly, he could see why: The destroyed body was none other than Satan himself.

“You killed the Adversary!” cried Michael.

Aziraphale tightened his arms around Crowley.  “I was just trying to rescue Crowley, I—I was so angry, you have to understand!”

“This was not how it was supposed to happen,” fumed Angelo.  “This is _not_ according to the divine plan. How will Armageddon proceed without the Adversary?”

Aziraphale stood there holding Crowley awkwardly, trying to think of something to say other than _I don’t care_.  “Erm, well either way, we should be going, shouldn’t we?  Fast like a spear and-and all that, right, old chap?”

Angelo spat, “He’s right. Let’s get a move on.”

Aziraphale stopped to retrieve his sword before they headed back up.  Getting out was easier than getting in.  All they had to do was follow the trail of destruction Michael had left on the way in.

* * *

Michael said it would be proper to have Crowley healed by Raphael, but Aziraphale thought of what had happened last time Crowley had tried to enter Heaven and declined.  Crowley was a healer himself, and Aziraphale knew he would probably prefer to take care of himself on Earth, away from all this mess.

Angelo was having a hissy fit all the way to the gates, loudly raging that Aziraphale and Michael had messed everything up and what was Gabriel going to say?  What was Camael going to say? How were the other archangels going to react? Aziraphale wasn’t supposed to be the one to kill the Adversary; he wasn’t even in Revelations!

Aziraphale was hardly paying attention.  All his focus was on Crowley, who seemed to have fallen asleep.  Angelo told him very sternly to go back to his post on Earth, but Aziraphale had already stepped through the entryway and materialized directly in his bookshop.

He had been so afraid that this would never happen again, the two of them here together in the bookshop.  Aziraphale laid him out on the couch and began to run his hands over him, healing the injuries to his corporation, the broken bones, the marks all along his body, and the wretched seal on his neck.  Aziraphale was filled with sorrow looking at it, and he was glad when it disappeared under his hands.  With his body pristine again, Crowley could heal the injuries to his true form in his own time.  Aziraphale would make sure of that--that he got the peace and safety he deserved.

He then pulled the duvet off the bed and wrapped himself and Crowley together in it, and fell asleep as well.

* * *

In the end, they stayed together like that for an entire day.  When Aziraphale had fully recovered his energy, he miracled a few anti-demon sigils onto the outside of the shop, and then slept secure.

He woke up hours later to a half-lidded pair of golden eyes looking at him.  “Aziraphale?”

“Hello, my dear,” he said.

The demon’s eyes slid closed.  “I wasn’t sure if you were coming for me,” he said quietly.

Aziraphale reached out and stroked his cheek.  “I promised.”

“They had me convinced you had done it on purpose.”

Aziraphale thought about the fact that Crowley had still screamed his name under duress, even when he hadn’t known the angel was close by.  “Never.  I love you more than anything else in this universe.”

Crowley kissed him, then settled back into his arms.  “Stupid angel,” he said muzzily.

* * *

Crowley tried to dress himself when they finally got up and back at it, but Aziraphale insisted on helping. As he was holding Crowley’s suit jacket open to help him slide into it, there was a _fwomp_ as somebody appeared in the front of the store.

Aziraphale took Crowley’s hand and peeked out, keeping the demon behind him.

“Oh, it’s you.”

It was Victoria, and she stood with mail in her hand as they came out.  “Hello, Aziraphale, Crowley.”

Aziraphale gave her a dirty look.  “Why are you here?”

She held out the letters. “I wanted to deliver these in person. I wanted to…apologize, for what Camael did.  I wouldn’t have agreed if I had known this is what would happen.”

She sounded sincere, and Crowley did not seem particularly upset with her, but Aziraphale refused to be placated so easily.  He took the mail and said coldly, “Thank you, Victoria.  You can go now.”

She disappeared with a flutter of wings.  Aziraphale sorted through the letters.  “Goodness, we’ve got quite a lot, haven’t we?”

He opened the first, one with an impressive golden seal and celebratory font.

_This letter is hereby notary that the agent(s)_

__________Aziraphale (Principality of Earth) and Crowley (irregular agent)_________

_Have received a commendation for_

_______Tremendous bravery and key roles in combating the forces of darkness______

____________________________And killing Satan _______________________________

_Heaven thanks you and hereby recognizes your outstanding service.  With this honour comes a special reward, which is attached with this notice._

Aziraphale shook the envelope, and a coupon for a pizza and drink special for $7 fell out.

The next letter was a general address for all of Heaven’s agents.

_Due to changes in circumstances involving parties which will not be named, the Apocalypse cannot proceed as planned.  War activities have been suspended until further notice.  Resume your normal posts and await further instructions._

_-The Archangel Gabriel_

The third letter was also from Gabriel, but it was addressed to Aziraphale specifically and written very hastily.

_Aziraphale,_

_I wish you would just follow instructions.  The final battle between good and evil cannot proceed if there is no Adversary.  How are we supposed to prove the superiority of Heaven’s forces if there is no Adversary? If we vanquish Hell now, we wouldn’t prove anything, and besides who would we bind in chains and darkness for a thousand years?  There has to be an Adversary.  On top of this, the new antichrist has gone to Hell for the funeral and refuses to come back up.  Who knows how long our plans will have to be delayed now.  In the future, please just follow instructions._

_-The Archangel Gabriel_

The fourth letter read:

_To the angel Aziraphale:_

_The archangel Camael has come under suspicion of unethical behaviour recently, and we understand you and close parties may have information regarding this matter. These are unprecedented circumstances, and an investigation is pending. Please be ready to testify if necessary._

_-Internal affairs_

Aziraphale set all the mail aside.  “I suppose that’s it, then.”

Crowley was still reading through it, and rubbed his eyes.  “Yeah, I guess so.”

Aziraphale took his hand. “Why don’t we do lunch?”

The Ritz was conveniently quiet, and Aziraphale ordered the best wine they had on the menu.  Crowley seemed a little hesitant about his surroundings and took small, cautious bites of his food, and sipped his wine slowly.

Aziraphale put a hand on his.  Crowley looked up at him unsurely from over his wine glass.  His golden eyes were sparkling beautifully just as they had done that time in the cold, his slit pupils flaring.

“I’m sorry,” said Aziraphale.  “I made a horrible mistake, and you paid the price for it.  If you want to leave, I would understand.”

"It's all right, I forgive you."

"No," said Aziraphale.  "Crowley, listen."

Crowley set his glass down and gave him his full attention.

"I understand the gravity of what I did.  I broke your trust.  Horribly.  That's not something it'd be easy to just get over.  If you needed some space, or some time away to think about--"

Crowley stopped him with a squeeze of the hand.  "I  _know_ , angel.  Trust me, I know.  But you _d_ _id_ keep your promise.  And you killed Satan himself and averted the bloody apocalypse by yourself trying to fix your mistake.”  He gave him a small smile.  “And I _do_ still love you.”

Aziraphale leaned over and kissed him.  “I’m glad. And I suspect they’re going to resist giving you your asylum when they find out what Camael promised, but I’ll fight them, my dear.  I’ll make sure he gets held to his word.”

Crowley rolled his empty glass in his hand contemplatively.  “Well, now that the world isn’t ending any more, what would you like to do now?”

“Why don’t you decide?”

“Well…I heard it’s supposed to snow tonight.”

Aziraphale brightened and kissed him again.  “I’ll make sure we’re stocked with cocoa.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!!! I hope you enjoyed it. More stories in this series are coming soon!


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